Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sirens wailed through New York’s night, keeping its residents awake. Among the many awake, was a beautiful, pregnant woman. She ran, clutching her stomach. She had messed up and taken the wrong form when conceiving her child.

Olympus was not a safe place for her right now. Aphrodite had managed to keep her power a secret for decades, she could not allow one mistake to end the lives of her children. She couldn’t.

So, Aphrodite ran to the one place she would consider safe. The house of the man whose baby she was with.

Pounding on the door, Aphrodite begged him to let her in. But to no avail, there was no answer.

Having enough, Aphrodite broke down the door, only for her spine to run cold.

Because there the man lay on the floor, unresponsive. When Aphrodite reached for a pulse, there was none, and his skin was cold.

She had no one. Her most powerful child would have to go into adoption.

Running out of options, Aphrodite had to go to her last resort. While she could normally go through pregnancy by herself, this child was too powerful, too strong, for her to go through it alone this time. The child would die without help. Running to her ex-lover’s bed, Aphrodite pled to the one person she could think of to help her.

“Eileithyia, I know you aren’t involved in the mortal world anymore, but I beg you to help me. This child needs to survive.”

Indeed, Eileithyia rarely got involved in the modern world anymore. Although she was the goddess of labour, she rarely got prayed to anymore, and thus she lay dormant, waiting for a call.

When she heard a goddess asking for help, she couldn’t resist her curiosity, and so she flashed from the cave she had been resting in, to Aphrodite.

The moment she was there, she was glad she listened. Even from the womb, Eileithyia could tell this was a unique child.

“I’m here, Aphrodite”

Aphrodite gasped “Please help me, and my child. He is different.”

Intrigued by the child’s existence, Eileithyia agreed to help. And thus, hours later, a gorgeous baby was born, as was expected from any child of Aphrodite.

Aphrodite gazed down at her child, love evident in her eyes.

“Aphrodite, you know he can’t grow up with you. He must have a mortal childhood,” Eileithyia whispered.

Aphrodite smiled sadly at Eileithyia, “I know. But at least let me care for him for two weeks. After that, I will give him to the orphanage, I swear. I just fear he won’t survive if we left him now.”

“Very well. You have my word, that I will tell no one about him.”

Aphrodite smiled appreciatively at Eileithyia, before returning her focus to her child. She had limited time with him, and she would treasure every moment available.

***

The two weeks following her child’s birth were stressful but worth it. Ares was suspicious as to why he hadn’t seen much of her recently, and Aphrodite couldn’t give him a reason. If Ares found out, he would be mad, and go straight to his father.

It was time, however, for Aphrodite to leave her child, and hold to her word. She had picked out the first name for him, however, she left his last name to whoever adopted him.

He would be named Perseus, after the one hero with a happy ending.

Aphrodite had also been looking out for the kinder orphanages, wanting to leave Perseus with the best one possible, just in case he wasn’t adopted immediately.

She had found the one she wanted, and so it was time to leave her baby behind. Time to leave him in the care of another mother. Aphrodite gently lay Perseus down in a soft basket, with a piece of paper tucked snugly against him.

Then she rang the doorbell, and as much as it pained her, she walked away.

The door opened quickly, to reveal a kindly woman, with greying hair falling around her face. When she looked at the doorstep, she let out a sad sigh.

Picking up the piece of paper, she read its contents.

“Perseus,”
“August 18th”

Taking a closer look at the newest addition, the woman was instantly entranced. The baby was young, yet he was already gorgeous, with silky, raven-coloured hair and glowing skin. As he blinked himself awake, he revealed eyes with thousands of shades of blue, green and purple.

He would be gone quickly.

***

Somewhere else in the same city, Sally Jackson gazed dully at the test results. She was infertile, never to have kids. While that was probably a good thing, considering the power of the man beside her, she had wanted to raise a kid, even if it was without Poseidon.

“I’m infertile. We will never have a kid, Poseidon,” She whispered brokenly.

“It’s ok my love. If you want a child, we can adopt. Find a child there who calls to you, and I will adopt him as my own. He will not get the full strength of my power, but when he gets older, I will treat him as my own.”

Sally nodded and then curled into Poseidon’s arms.

“I’ll be gone in the morning my love, but I will be back in a week. Be ready, and we can adopt.”

Sally adjusted her pillows, smiling, before drifting off to sleep.

~

A week later, Sally awoke to the sound of her alarm. She quickly showered, before getting ready for Poseidon to arrive.

Finally, a knock sounded throughout the apartment. Rushing to the door, Sally swung it open, smiling up at Poseidon. Barely giving him any time, she dragged Poseidon to her car and drove to the most ethical orphanage they knew.

When they rang the doorbell, the door opened to reveal the same face that had found Perseus a week before.

“Come in, please. I’m Delilah. Sorry about the messy state currently, we had a new arrival a week ago, and the poor bubba isn’t quite settled. Not that I blame him.”

Sally and Poseidon exchanged looks. Sally knew that no matter the age, she wanted to help this child.

“Can we see him?” She asked tentatively.

Delilah nodded, “Of course, of course. He’s not an age lots of parents look to adopt, as he is at the age that’s still a handful to look after. Unfortunately, some people adopt for the wrong reason, and don’t like the idea of nurturing a child.”

“How young is he?” Sally enquired

“Three weeks old, the poor dearie. He was an angel at first, but when he realised his mum wasn’t coming back, he broke down.”

"Is there any chance I could try to adopt him?” Sally asked, knowing there was a chance that the answer was no.

Delilah nodded and ushered them to a room.

Once in the room, Sally was entranced. She knew that no matter how old this child would’ve been, she would’ve adopted him. Her soul called to him.

"What's his name?" Sally asked Delilah.

"His name is Perseus. He wasn't given the last name."

Curious about the Greek name, Poseidon wandered over to the crib. As soon as he approached, he was hit by a wave of unknown, but vaguely familiar power. This child was a demigod. Poseidon couldn’t peg down whos child it was. Strangely enough, the child already had water powers.

The presence of the water powers worried Poseidon. However, he had made a promise to Sally. So rather than blessing Perseus with his powers, he would strengthen Perseus’s already present water powers.

Sally made eye contact with Poseidon and nodded; her mind made up.

"How long would the adoption process take?" She questioned.

“It depends. Has a home study been conducted, and have you got your certificate?”

Sally nodded; Poseidon had helped speed up those processes.

“Ok, good. Following this, you will have a 3-month supervisory period, where a caseworker will visit you with Perseus, to ensure you are a good match. If the match is approved, you will have to pay the fee for adoption. Following this, case workers will show up when they feel the need, to ensure you are caring for the child effectively. Following this, you will have parenting rights over the child.”

Sally nodded and began the long process of paperwork.

~

Hours later, Poseidon blessed the child, who was lying next to Sally, sleeping peacefully.

“Sally, my love. This might be one of the last times we meet. I have tried to hide my excursions, but they have been noticed. If we continue, Zeus may kill you. Remember, Perseus must end up going to the summer camp, as godly blood runs through his veins.”

Sally nodded and pulled Poseidon into a kiss. He faded away while kissing her.

Around an hour after Poseidon left, there was another knock on the door. Sally peered through the peephole suspiciously, seeing a woman, who looked like Poseidon in women’s form.

Sally opened the door suspiciously.

"Good evening, Sally Jackson. May I come in?" She asked Sally.

“How do you know my name?” Sally replied.

“Sorry dear, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love and other things, as I’m sure you’re aware, given your tryst with Poseidon,” Aphrodite winked. Sally gaped but opened the door to let in Aphrodite.

"Lady Aphrodite, why are you here?"

“Perseus is my child,” Sally’s jaw fell open. “And as a thank you for helping him, I have convinced someone who owes me a favour, to provide you breastmilk. I cannot thank you enough for adopting my child. I know he’s in good hands.”

Sally smiled weakly.

“Now, close your eyes, unless you want to die,”

Used to this, Sally did as told, and Aphrodite disappeared.

Wandering over to Perseus, Sally looked down on him fondly

“Perseus, son of Aphrodite and Poseidon. What an interesting life.”

Chapter Text

~Percy~

Sally had been granted Percy easily in the space of four years.

Of course, Percy wasn't the peaceful child Sally had thought he was at the orphanage. No, Percy would use his big green eyes to his advantage and widen them whenever he did something wrong. He would smile his lopsided smile, and a dimple in his left cheek would appear. Friends of Sally got an undefinable uneasiness around him. They felt nervous and would often just label Percy as a trouble maker.

Poseidon, of course, had been keeping an eye on his adopted son. To Sally's alarm, Percy once ran home and told her that he'd seen a man with one eye. Of course, Sally had shaken her head and said you're imagining things, but on the inside she was nervous. Percy was becoming less oblivious. That means that he wouldn't be as safe anymore.

Of course, Percy wasn't immune to the 'curse' of the demigod when it came to school. Likewise to his mum's friends, he was thought to be a troublemaker. Percy was gorgeous, considering his age. He made them uneasy, and the teachers didn't like things that made them uneasy. Therefore, they labelled him a troublemaker. And that was that. It didn't help that bad things happened to Percy every year. And the fact that Percy was dyslexic and had ADHD. He could never pay attention in class and was constantly frowning at the board, making it seem like he didn't like what it said.

Sally was running out of options. Gabe spent all their money and gods know what, so she couldn't send him to schools that cost a lot. That left a few schools, since once one area heard of Percy's incidents, they wouldn't allow him into their school. Yancy's academy was left, and although it was a boarding school, Sally knew it would be best. After all, it was better than the place that Poseidon wanted Percy to go to, and most likely Aphrodite as well.

***

Percy strode through the door, pushing it open with the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, he seemed to put a bit more force than was necessary into the push, and the door swung open with a bang. When Percy heard the bang, he cowered a bit. Gabe would not be happy.

'Sorry Gabe' He thought to himself sarcastically, as he eyes the hairless walrus who sat slumped on a table. Beer bottles surrounded him, and some lay discarded on the floor.

'Oops. My bad Gabe. Next time I'll open the door like a fairy.' Percy thought to himself sarcastically, as he eyed the alcoholic wasteland. There were beer bottles everywhere, some on the floor and some on the table. In the middle. If the wasteland lay Gabe, who resembled a hairless walrus. He lay slumped on the table, most likely passed out from having too much alcohol.

Percy walked through on the tips of his feet, trying not to disturb the sleeping walrus. Then, something glinting in the sun caught his eye.

There was glass on the floor. That means one of two things, Smelly Gabe had been clumsy and had knocked a bottle onto the floor, or he had been extremely angry and had hurtled a bottle to the floor. Percy hedged his bets on the second option, as he eyed the source of the cracked glass. It was coming from a bottle that seemed to have been thrown to the ground in fury.

He had to get to his room. It wouldn't be a mess, as it hadn't been the whole year. Well, it wouldn't be a mess that Smelly Gabe had created. But Percy couldn't deny that there would be a mess from himself.

If Percy had gone to a boarding school the whole year, it would've been a different story. There would be muddy marks all along the window sill, and his room would've become Gabe's personal study.

Just as Percy started to his room once again, a huge sigh was heaved from the table. Percy crouched down again as if to protect his stomach. After doing that, he froze, knowing that if he attempted to run, he wouldn't make it.

"Kid, make yourself useful for once and get me some beer." A rough voice grunted out. Percy stayed in the same position for a few seconds, before standing up straight. Then, he drew on his confidence and faced Gabe

"Get it yourself. You have legs, don't you?" Percy retorted, unknowingly putting some force behind his words. Gabe's eyes glazed over, and he walked over to the fridge in a trancelike state. He pulled open the fridge and grabbed one of the many beers. Then, he walked back to the table.

Percy watched all this wide-eyed. Stuff like this hadn't happened to Percy before. Well, it had, but not like that. Freaky things constantly happened to Percy, but Percy was never the one who did them. Sure, he fired a canon at a school bus before, but that was technically not

Gabe shook his head, and the glazed look faded from his eyes. It seemed that he was back on control of his own body. This was confirmed when he glared at Percy.

"You punk. How did you do that?" He grunted once again,

Percy shook his head softly, confused by what he just did. Then, he shrugged in reply, as he still wasn't quite sure what just happened. And how it happened. It just didn't make sense.

Gabe's beady eyes narrowed, and he lumbered towards Percy. Percy was uneasy as Gabe approached, and slowly crept towards the wall, too scared to think straight.

Nearing the wall was a bad choice, as Gabe started punching Percy. "Tell. Me. How. You. Did. It." He punctuated each word he said with a punch, increasing the intensity of the hit each time. Percy let out a small groan each time.

Percy let out a strangled cry "I don't know!" He pleaded, pain filling him. Gabe punched him in the face, before dragging him to Percy's room and chucking Percy in his bed. Percy scrambled for the sheets and pulled them over himself. He was still scared of Gabe.

"When your mum gets back, she will be clueless. And you will make sure she remains clueless, or I will hit that little bitch more times then you count." Gabe demanded. Protection welled up inside Percy for his mother, he didn't want her to get hurt. And so he nodded. But he was still mad, and still had fury left in him. And so he used it

Percy built up his confidence."Get out" he demanded, and Gabe obeyed. He marched out of the room in a dreamlike state, looking like a zombie. When the door shut, Percy hauled his desk to the door, barricading himself from the world.

***

Percy wandered through the streets, looking very lonely due to his absence of friends. When his mum had first let him wander among the street, he had doubted her mentality. Of course, if she hadn't allowed Percy to go he would've snuck out himself. Perhaps this was why Sally let him wander the streets by himself.

New York was busy, and full of people who had no good intentions and would try to cheat people for money. Because of this, Percy decided it would be perfect to practice his newfound skill. He needed to know how powerful it was. He walked over to a stall, where there seemed to be a heated argument. Then, he eavesdropped.

"Sir, you promised me that this would be a bargain! You said it wouldn't cost as much if I bought two things." A woman was pleading to a man behind a food stall

" Yes ma'am, but since I told you this I changed my mind. It's not my problem you took so long, next time instead of standing there for 5 minutes, pick it!" The man retorted rudely. Percy narrowed his eyes, this man was cheating the woman and blaming her for it.

He decided to step in. "Come on sir, you promised this woman something, don't you wanna follow up your deal?" He asked, cocking his head to the side to make him seem innocent.

The man's eyes glazed over for a bit before he shook his head. "No, not really."

"Yes, you do," Percy instructed, putting more force behind his words. To his alarm, instead if just persuading the man in the stall, he managed to persuade everyone at the stall. Soon, everyone was nodding, and the man agreed to the bargain. With wide eyes, Percy walked away. He didn't know he could do that, and to be honest, it kind of scared him.

Tell me what you think...

Chapter Text

~Percy~

It had almost been a year since I had been kicked out of my old school. I hadn't meant to ruin something, but of course, it happened anyway. Maybe people shouldn't put things that can cause mass destruction in reach of a 5th grader. Like placing that huge Revolutionary War cannon near me. If it's not supposed to work, why did it work for me?

I might be able to make it to the second year at a school. Then, I wouldn't have to feel the terrible feeling of being the new kid at a school again.

I wish I knew how wrong I was

The only reason I want to stay at Yancys academy was because of Grover, and Mr Brunner. Oh, and I didn't want to be a new kid again. The rest of the school could go rot in hell, especially Mrs Dodds. I don't know how someone would marry her. The poor soul.

And then there was Nancy Bobofit. Ever since I had arrived at Yancy, she had hated me. I don't know what I did to her, but it offended her, and Nancy had made my life terrible ever since.

In retaliation, I hate Nancy. Completely logical if you ask me

The requirement to get in also made the school a bit psycho, with a bunch of troubled kids all thrown together. It was supposed to make it easier for other schools.

A perfect example of what went down here at Yancys would be my current situation; sitting on a bus on the way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, just to look at some Ancient Greek and Roman stuff. It sounded like fun, if fun included stabbing your eyes with forks repeatedly.

However, there is always hope in the darkest of times. And this hope came in the form of Mr Brunner, my Latin teacher. And my favourite teacher.

Mr Brunner was middle-aged and had this really cool motorised wheelchair. I could imagine him racing his buddies in it.

Anyway, back onto the topic. He had thinning hair, and a scruffy beard that needed to be shaved off(Sorry Mr Brunner.)

He had a supply of Roman weapons and armour in his class, and I was slightly worried that it was real. Because then he could chop off my head with them if I annoyed him. Therefore, there was no sleeping in that class. And it was kind of interesting.

I hoped I didn't get in trouble. I hoped that everything would go well.

I wish.

The problem with the bus drive included many things. 1, I was an ADHD child. This wasn't fun. And 2, Nancy Bobofit, the bane of my existence, was sitting right behind me. She was tormenting Grover and I for no reason other than pleasure. And she knew I couldn't react otherwise I would be killed by the headmaster in the form of death-by-in-school-probation.

Grover couldn't really protect himself either, mainly because he was an easy target. He cried when he got frustrated, which was a lot. He was scrawny, and he was already hitting puberty. He had a wispy beard that looked like chest hair growing on his face. On top of all those problems, his main one for being at this school was that he was a cripple. Grover was excused from Sports for the rest of his life (poor soul, I would hate that.) And the way he walked was kind of weird.

Because of all this, Nancy was throwing wads of peanut butter in Grover's hair.

"I'm going to slowly feed her to the sharks one by one," I mumbled, and no, I was not aggressive. Just very protective.

"It's okay, I like peanut butter." Grover tried to reassure me, knowing the consequences of me decking Nancy.

Yeh, I'm sure you do. But not in your hair.

Another projectile of Nancy's lunch came flying by. At this, I turned around and snarled at Nancy.

"Stop it," I demanded. To my surprise, she did. Her eyes glazed over like the others did, and she nodded in a trance. And we carried on our trip like nothing happened, though Grover did keep looking out me out of the corners of his eyes.

***

There was a motorised wheelchair leading us. There sat a man in that wheelchair, the same man I described earlier, but that was irrelevant.

There was stuff all around us that looked like it would crumble and turn to dust if I even poked it. That's what happens after stuff had survived for two or three thousand years.

Right now, we were all in front of a stone stele, which was about four metres tall. Mr Brunner was telling us all about the carvings on the side, and it was interesting. To me, at least. According to the chatter around me, other people didn't think it was. And whenever I tried to tell them t shut up, I was given a dirty look by Mrs Dodds, who currently looked like a wannabe biker. She wore a leather jacket and looked like she would run a Harley right into your locker.

She seemed to support the feud between Nancy and me, and sadly she sided with Nancy and not me.

I thought that Mrs Dodds wasn't human. Grover agreed.

When I'd told him my suspicions of Mrs Dodds not being human, he looked at me, dead serious and told me "You're absolutely right." He was a bit into it.

Mr Brunner continued to talk about funeral art. I still couldn't hear, and snapped when I heard Nancy snicker about the naked guy on the stele.

And so I turned around "Will you shut up?" I asked.

With my luck, those words came out a lot louder than I thought. Figures.

Mr Brunner turned around, stopping his story while all around him kids laughed at me. My face flushed

"Mr Jackson," he started "did you have a comment?"

By now. I was sure I resembled a tomato. Or maybe a red capsicum. "No sir," I replied.

Mr Brunner directed my attention to the side of the stele. It was a fairly gruesome carving.

" Perhaps you'll be able to tell us what this picture represents."

The carving was a familiar one, and I felt my face flush again, but this time from relief. "That's Kronos eating his kids." I said, right off the bat.

Mr Brunner wasn't satisfied with that answer apparently. "And he did this because..." he trailed off. Looking at me expectantly.

If this was any other teacher, I would've said a smart remark. Surely they would know since they thought the subject.

But this was Mr Brunner. I liked him.

"Well... Kronos was the king god, I mean titan." I corrected myself as Mr Brunner raised an eyebrow at me. "And he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. And so bam, he swallowed them whole. However, his wife didn't want one of her children to be eaten, quite understandable if you ask me, and so she gave Kronos a rock in place of her baby Zeus. So while Kronos had a rock rattling around in his stomach, baby Zeus grew up. And when he was old enough he tricked his dad, who was Kronos, into barfing out his brothers and sisters."

I heard some retching noises behind me. "Ewww" was also heard.

"And so there was this huge fight that went on for ages. It was between the Titans and gods, and the gods won."

The spawn of the devil, in the form of a human, mumbled to her friend. "Like we're going to need this in real life. We'll be in college and the deal-breaking question will be "Please explain why Kronos ate his children."

Luckily, Mr Brunner had radar ears. "And why, Mr Jackson," He said, " to paraphrase Miss Bobofit excellent question, does this matter in real life."

Grover smirked "Exposed"

"Shut up" Nancy mumbled, her face now even brighter than mine had been before.

I, however, had sadly been wondering the same thing as Nancy. "I don't know, sir," I said dejectedly.

Mr Brunner was disappointed, which disappointed me. You know that look that teachers get when they expect you to do better and you don't, and then they put on a face which makes you want to do it? Well, Mr Brunner had perfected that look, it was almost as if he'd been practising it for centuries.

"Well, half-credit to you, Mr Jackson. You are correct. Zeus did, in fact, feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him throw up his other children, who had grown up in their father's stomach. They then defeated their father, sliced him to pieces, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the underworld. Now, lets head outside and enjoy the sunshine, unlike Kronos is." With that happy note, everyone headed outside.

I was hoping to get away before my name was called, so I could eat lunch in peace.

Of course, that wasn't the case, so I wasn't surprised to hear my name being called out.

"Mr Jackson," was heard from Mr Brunner. I had been walking with Grover, so I told him to go ahead, not wanting him to be held up by me.

"Sir?"

Mr Brunner had this certain look, that wouldn't let you go. His intense brown eyes could've seen a thousand years or however many years old he was, and I wouldn't know any different. He almost seemed like he had seen everything. His look was captivating and held you in place. You didn't want to look away in fear of missing something.

"Mr. Jackson, you must learn the answer to my question. It is vital information. It may be the difference between life and death," Mr. Brunner told me gravely.

"About how this applies to real life? Because Mr. Brunner, how am I supposed to know that? And sir, I don't understand how this could be life and death. Yes, it is all very interesting, but its Greek mythology. They're all myths"

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Mr Brunner shifted in his chair anxiously. Huh, he must be scared of storms then

Mr. Brunner gave me a look, "What you learn from me, is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson." He told me. And then he turned and walked outside, after giving the stele a long look, as if he'd been at her funeral. And really, with those eyes, I wouldn't be surprised if he was that old.

I felt anger arise deep inside me. Mr Brunner pushed me so hard. He expected me to do well in school, which was practically impossible.

I mean, sure, he was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armour and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I glumly walked outside, where the weather seemed to match my mood. A storm was brewing, the blackest clouds I'd ever seen forming. It had to be global warming. Weather had been weird for the past few months; we'd had so many weather disasters. Snowstorms, flash floods, wildfires. It was as if they were pitted against each other.

Everyone else seemed to be ignorant of the weather and to be honest, I wasn't surprised.

My class was as bright as a dead lightbulb. Myself included, I guess.

Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket some random lady, and once again, Mrs Dodds was acting as if that was suitable behaviour.

Grover was sitting on the edge of the fountain, far away from all our fellow classmates. I quickly joined him, hoping that by being this far away from them all, I would not be associated with the school for freaks.

"Detention?" Grover asked as I approached.

I scoffed. "Nah, why would I get one anyways. He heard what Nancy said, so it wasn't like I did something wrong. He's just pressuring me to do better, and I just wish he'd lay off me man. I mean, I'm no genius."\

Grover said nothing, just staring at the ground. I thought he was thinking of something philosophical to say, but, when he opened his mouth to talk, all he said was, "can I have your apple?"

I didn't have an appetite, so I let him take it. Who was I to deny a man, or boy, from food?

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue and thought about my mum's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

And on top of that, 'd have to see Smelly Gabe again. He'd be annoyed to see me, and he'd either take it out on me or yell at mum. And I didn't want either of those things to happen. So I stayed put.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. Kind of rude if you ask me. Move away from the ramp for others who are handicapped. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops. " She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos. Not attractive in the slightest. I mean, freckles are cute, but not if they're orange.

I tried to stay cool. The school counsellor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper. " But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

Next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting in the fountain, drenched, screaming "Percy pushed me!"

Oh shit. I was in trouble. Again. Hello, new school!

Sure enough, once Mrs Dodds was assured that poor little miss Cheeto face was ok, she turned to me, with a triumphant fire in her eyes. They gleamed as if she'd been waiting for an opportunity like this for the whole semester. "Now honey-"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks. "

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her. "

I stared at him stunned. It was pretty damn obvious that it was my fault, kids were screaming it was my fault. And, on top of that, Mrs Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled. How did he even have a whiskery chin?

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"You—will—stay—here. "

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "Thanks for trying. "

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now. "

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. She just snickered, and mouthed ' see you later, pretty boy,' I gritted my teeth

Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast? Did she have superhuman speed or something? Unfair

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counsellor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I wanted her to have super speed

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel. I could never relate. Reading was hell.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall. Superhuman speed

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop. Even though, the shirts were terrible, and Nancy would probably hate it. That was something I couldn't blame her for.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan. And thank god for that, I couldn't've done with that fashion disaster. Honestly, people have no taste

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, and the sculptures of the mythological people, the gallery was empty. Risky

Mrs Dodds stood in front of this big marble frieze of the Greek gods. Her arms were crossed, and she seemed to be making this weird noise in her throat, almost like she was growling. Or maybe she had something stuck in her throat. You never know... no judgement

Even without the weird growly noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher unless it's one that likes you. And I don't really have experience with teachers who like me. She looked at the frieze behind her, as if she wanted to pulverise it. She had some problems, I decided

"You've been giving us problems honey," She said. Ok, great. Turned out one of her problems was me. That's ok.

I felt like using my freaky little persuasive thing on her, but mum always told me to be honest, and she would never manipulate someone unless they really, really deserved it. And she would say that Mrs Dodds doesn't deserve it. So, I Did the safe thing. I said, "Yes ma'am"

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me.

I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am. "

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain. "

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. A guy needs money. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

Maybe they'd found my gossip column on the school, I needed to expose people somehow, and I was a pretty good eavesdropper.

But it seemed a bit extreme to punish any of these things with legitimate pain.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't. . . "

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shrivelled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

She looked disgusting. 0/10 on attractiveness.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulphur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt. "

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious. "

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson. "

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher. "

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

I found out on the bus ride back, that apparently this Mrs Kerr was a perky blonde woman, whom I'd never seen in my life. The rest of the school seemed to believe she had been my pre-algebra teacher since Christmas, but I wasn't so sure.

Grover was the only one who helped me keep my sanity. I'd mention Mrs Dodds name, and he would hesitate. But then he would claim she didn't exist. But he hesitated;

The rest of the school year was average. I wouldn't be coming back to school the next year, after calling my English teacher an old sot.

I mean, he was an old sot, and his breath stunk.

School seemed to drift by, until exams came. I only really bothered for Latin. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.

I picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried. Cause I had, I really had.

Mr Brunner was the only teacher who didn't immediately act uneasy when he taught me. I'd asked students why other teachers got uneasy around me, and they'd look at the ground and mutter something about looks.

Surely I wasn't that ugly?

Anyway, I needed Mr Brunner's help.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor. That was oddly suspicious to me, but I shrugged it off. Couldn't be that bad.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... worried about Percy, sir."

I froze. Holy shit. What was he talking about

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult. Especially when you don't know what they're talking about. For all I know, Grover could be spilling my deep dark secrets to Mr Brunner. I wanted to know what he was saying

I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

A kindly one? What kind of bullshit is this?

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more."

Um, thanks, sir. I know I'm not mature. But that hit deep.

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— "

"Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can."

And again with the insults! Come on man, I'm not that oblivious, am I?

"Sir, he saw her... ."

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that."

Mist? The weather recently had been clear. How was the weather-related to any of this

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean.

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Fuck. Hide.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall. Gotta hide the evidence after all

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow. What the hell was going on here?

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled woodblocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

I waited for a while in the room, but once it was clear everyone was gone, I snuck back to my dorm, were Grover was waiting

"You ready for the test?" He asked, blearily rubbing his eyes as he came in

"Hell no"

After that it was silent. Grover made no move to tell me what he'd been talking about with Mr Brunner

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger. For all I know, they could've been having these conversations constantly throughout the year.

The Latin exam came and went. Mr Brunner wanted to speak to me, and I was kind of scared he knew that I'd eavesdropped.

But it turned out, he just wanted to tell me that I wasn't normal, and it was best that I was leaving

Great. Bloody brilliant. Just what I wanted my favourite teacher to tell me.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase. I just wanted to get out of here

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, Percy ... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar. And believe it or not, I'm not stupid"

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer.

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or ... or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with the afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. They weren't a look

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me. I mean, I get it, I'm ugly. no need to make me insecure.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, man—"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?"

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all."

" really? I thought that was hilarious"

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, thedriver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. Thebus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

The rest of the trip was weird. Grover was weird. I felt feverish, and Grover wasn't helping with his shaking knee.

Grover asked if he could walk me home from the bus station. I told him, yes, but really, I meant no.

As soon as Grover went to the bathroom for his nervous pee, I bolted.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma. And even after all that, when she was so poor she could barely afford anything, she adopted me.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my adopted dad.

They decided to adopt me together. I sometimes wonder if mum regretted it. After all, my adopted dad left, and mum was left with me. And my adopted dad's name wasn't even on the adoption papers. See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

I don't have any memories of my adoptive father. Just this warm glow, and the barest trace of a smile. I don't ask mum about him, it makes her sad. She has no pictures of him either.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

And then there was Smelly Gabe. He sucked. I'm not gonna dignify him with any other description. He doesn't deserve it.

An accurate depiction of how disgusting he is is the fact that when I walked in smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. Junk was all over the carpet, and all I could smell was cigar smoke, our conversation consisted of this.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mum?"

"Working," he said. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

***

It was a while before mum got back. In the meantime, I cleaned up my dirty room.

I cleaned it up pretty early, so I was left with my thoughts. And I thought about what happened today.

But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt weak. I remembered Grover's look of panic—how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without him. A sudden chill rolled through me. I felt like someone—something—was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons.

Then I heard my mum's voice. "Percy?"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears melted.

My mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change colour in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few grey streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Gabe.

We sat in my room together for a while. Mum worked at a candy store and whenever I was home, she brought back a bag of free samples, all blue.

We sat together on the edge of the bed. While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right?

It was nice.

However, it was all ruined by smelly Gabe, surprise surprise.

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth.

My mum is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at YancyAcademy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked YancyAcademy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly didn't seem so bad.

I didn't even touch on Mrs Didds, knowing it would scare her.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk? No way!"

"Three nights—same cabin."

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

I couldn't believe it. My mum and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money. There was, he was just a bitch.

Gabe appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

I wanted to punch him, but I met my mum's eyes and I understood she was offering me a deal: be nice to Gabe for a little while. Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk. Then we would get out of here.

"I was on my way, honey," she told Gabe. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," my mum said evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money. That's all. Besides," she added, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softened a bit. "So this money for your trip ... it comes out of your clothes budget, right?

"Yes, honey," my mother said.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip ... And maybe if the kid apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.

But my mum's eyes warned me not to make him mad.

Why did she put up with this guy? I wanted to scream. Why did she care what he thought?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement.

"Yeah, whatever," he decided.

He went back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," my mum said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about... whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes—the same fear I'd seen in Grover during the bus ride—as if my mum too felt an odd chill in the air.

But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken. She ruffled my hair and went to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

Chapter Text

~Percy~

After an hour, we were finally able to leave the big fat ugly rat behind.

Said rat took a break from his oh so important poker game long enough to watch me lug my mum's bags to the car. Not that I would’ve trusted him to carry them. The man probably has 1% muscle in his body. He’d drop them immediately.

No, instead he used his time in a much more useful way. By griping and groaning about losing my mum’s cooking for the whole weekend. I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from yelling. Mum was better than him in every way possible and didn’t deserve to be treated like a maid.

But, maybe without mums cooking, he’d die of starvation?

What was even worse for him, was the fact that he was losing his precious ’78 Camaro, for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, pretty boy," he leered at me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

I mean, sure Gabe. I was definitely the one driving. Not like I’m twelve or anything. But that didn’t matter to Gabe. If a seagull pooped on his paint job, Gabe would be convinced that I told the bird to with my weird voice powers.

Watching the rat lumber back to the building, I got really mad for some reason. Don’t know why, but I did. And so, as Gabe reached the doorway, I made that weird hand gesture that I’d seen Grover do back on the bus. It was like, a warding-off-evil gesture? A clawed hand over my heart, and then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon. I had to hold back a snicker. Served him goddamn right.

I got in the Camaro and told my mum to step on it. Further away from Gabe I was, the better.

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half-sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

We'd been going there since I was a baby. My mum had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place where she'd met my adoptive dad.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turned the color of the sea. She got even prettier, if possible.

We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jellybeans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mum had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told my mum there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mum went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop.

At times like this, I wondered if mum and I were secretly blood-related. Because it was such a me thing to do. She literally went out of the way to prove the bastard wrong. A true queen

When it got dark, we made a fire. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Mum told me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Sometimes, at times like this, I felt like asking my mum about my adoptive father. But in the end, I didn’t. Because I wasn’t blood-related to him. And mum was in a good mood, which she deserved. I really didn’t want to ruin that.

However, I did somehow pick up the nerve to ask about my birth mother. See, mum told me that she’d, met my birth mother before. She’d thanked my mum profusely for taking me in. She regretted giving me up, but it was the only option she’d had apparently. My birth father had died, so she had no choice.

“Your birth mother was stunning Percy. She also gave me the sense of someone who was underestimated, the underdog. I think she would be proud of you. “

I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the random voice manipulation, where I could somehow manipulate someone's thoughts and make them puppets.

"How old was I?” I asked, “When you adopted me?”

“You were a few weeks old Percy. Your mother had looked after you for a bit, but then her family demanded you to be given up for adoption. She couldn’t go against them. They would kick her out and leave her for dead,”

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

Somehow, I knew that I’d been with my birth mum for a bit. Whenever I thought about her, there seemed to be this chiming laughter and soft voice, and I felt calmer.

“Why did my adoptive dad leave you. You’d just adopted a baby with him and he just; left,” I asked mum angrily.

“Oh Percy sweetie, your father never wanted to leave you. He was going on an ocean voyage and got lost at sea. I’ve never seen him again…” Mum told me sadly.

I felt angry at my adoptive father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry my mum. He'd left mum with a 2-week old baby, and now we were stuck with Smelly Gabe.

"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked her. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Her voice was heavy. "I think ... I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out. Mum had always tried to make me feel welcome.

My mum's eyes welled with tears. She took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I—I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words reminded me of what Mr Brunner had said—that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I said.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"Safe from what?"

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed me when I told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mum screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I knew I should tell my mum about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs Dodd’s at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I couldn't make myself tell her. I had a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I didn't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mum said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you. And your birth mother actually… And I just... I just can't stand to do it."

"My father wanted me to go to a special school?"

"Not a school," she said softly. "A summer camp."

My head was spinning. Why would my dad—who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me born— talk to my mum about a summer camp? My birth mother I understood. She had literally had no choice. But I was strange how they both wanted me to go to the same summer camp. Also, if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before?

"I'm sorry, Percy," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good? But if it's only a summer camp ..."

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry.

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. In the middle, a large white dove hovered in between. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagle’s wings. Above them, the dove seemed to be beating its wings, as if to provide a distraction. It also, somehow, looked disproving as they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I screamed, No!

I woke with a start.

Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery. But the waves didn’t scare me. Only the storm.

With the next thunderclap, my mum woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end.

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice—someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't... he wasn't exactly Grover. He was like, a half Grover, not a whole one.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror—not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be ...

My mum looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand knitting the big ass socks, and Mrs Dodd’s, and my mum stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves. Freaky stuff there.

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mum could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas. At some point, I’m pretty sure a bird pooped on the car.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo— lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal. Kind of disconcerting in my personal opinion.

All I could think to say was, "So, you and my mum... know each other? Do you guys have little boot club sessions, where you talk smack about me and how annoying I am? Because man, if you did, wouldn’t blame you there."

Grover looked at me wide-eyed as if he didn’t know how to respond.

Guess that was a yes then.

“Not exactly.” He said, proving my previous thought wrong. “I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you.”

"Watching me? Mum, you knew someone was stalking and befriending me, and you were ok with this?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. I was trying to keep you safe. Not in a stalkerish way at all. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

"Um, good to know G-man. Know what would be even better to know? If I knew what exactly you were, that would be just peachy. Cause right now I feel like I’m hallucinating.?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It doesn't matter? I’m pretty damn sure it is. I mean, it’s not normal to have a best friend who’s half animal. From the waist down, you’re a donkey if it escaped—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat. This day was getting weirder. It felt like was on drugs, and I’d never even done drugs despite all the dodgy offers I’d received.

"Goat!" he cried.

"What?" Oh god, this kept getting more interesting.

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter. Like literally 10 seconds ago you said it didn’t matter?"

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you underhoof for such an insult! A donkey? Ridiculous"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr Brunner's myths?" also, a little rich calling donkeys ridiculous when he was quite literally half-goat, apparently.

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs Dodds a myth?" Woah, cool down on the sass there G-man. Forgive me for being confused as fuck right now.

"So you admit there was a Mrs Dodds!"

"Of course."

“Oh yeah, of course. Just tried to make me go crazy for a few months! Why would you-”

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

“Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean? I know who I am. I’m a 12-year-old boy who has no idea what’s currently happening!”

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail. And it sounded demented. Not my place to judge though, I guess.

"Percy," my mum said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions. Not dangerous at all,"

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.

My mum made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences. Great, just what we needed as we were being chased by, as Grover said, the Lord of the Deads bloodthirstiest minions.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about." My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn."

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'"

"No, I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you.' As in me. I quite literally heard it. I’m confused, not deaf,"

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you."

“Yeah yeah, sure,”

"Boys!" my mum said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

If it helped, I would’ve used my weird voice powers. But I doubt anyone would appreciate that at the moment.

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive. It was like a roller coaster. Those terrified me though. But this did as well, so I guess it was apt.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me. I would’ve been a nice little barbecued human snack.

Then I thought about Mr Brunner ... and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom! and our car exploded.

Do you think Gabe would believe I convinced it to blow up?

I remember feeling weightless like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said, "Ow."

"Percy!" my mum shouted.

"I'm okay...."

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our drivers-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

So still ruined, but not in a kaboom way.

Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die! Despite how weird he was.

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope. And honestly, if I wasn’t lying. That was a mood, food was always good for the soul after all.

"Percy," my mother said, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. Kinky

I swallowed hard. "Who is—"

"Percy," my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car."

My mother threw herself against the drivers-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "Percy—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mum said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"Mum, you're coming too."

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" I shouted. "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover." A bit of my word manipulation came into my voice.

Mums eyes started to glaze over, but then thunder boomed, and she snapped out of it. “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

Goddamnit. I forgot how stubborn my mum could be sometimes.

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder. We get it, Grover, you’re a hungry bastard.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns ...

"He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please."

I got mad, then—mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mum."

"I told you—"

"Mum! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mum hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—"

"Pasiphae's son," my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

"But he's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power." Of course, they do. Duh.

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Mum, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, I remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

I told the bull guy to through it I guess.

"Percy," my mum said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?" Was mum a secret rodeo girl?

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me."

"Keeping me near you? But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side, I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, Percy!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mum!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was simply ... gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. Newfound strength burned in my limbs—the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs Dodds grew talons.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling my best friend, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

I couldn't allow that.

“Move away from him!” I screamed. The weird voice thing came back, and he seemed to move away from Grover for a bit, before going up to him again. Great, my voice thing wouldn’t work on him this time.

I stripped off my red rain jacket.

"Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

"Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward me, shaking his meaty fists.

I had an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. I put my back to the big pine tree and waved my red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking I'd jump out of the way at the last moment.

But it didn't happen like that.

The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I tried to dodge.

Time slowed down.

My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, so I leapt straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck.

How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out.

The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake me. I locked my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils.

The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward.

Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off.

"Food!" Grover moaned.

The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. I thought about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage filled me like high-octane fuel. I got both hands around one horn and I pulled backwards with all my might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap!

The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry, but I had a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife.

The monster charged.

Without thinking, I rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, I drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just seen my mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing my help, so I managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying, calling for my mother, but I held on to Grover—I wasn't going to let him go.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "He's the one. He must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "He's still conscious. Bring him inside."

Chapter Text

I had lots of dreams while I was unconscious. Lots of them, strangely, seemed to be about barn animals moaning for food. Now I’m all for erotic dreams if that’s your fancy, but this seemed a bit too far.

I woke up a few times, to this girl with really pretty curls smirking, as she scraped drool off my chin with a spoon.

“Not so pretty while sleeping, huh pretty boy,” she teased me. Which ouch, low blow. Don’t insult someone when they can’t defend themselves.

“I’m always pretty,” I croaked out. The girl jumped, looking alarmed.

“What? What will happen during the summer solstice?”

All former confidence leaked out of me as I started talking to someone pretty.

“W-w-what?”

“What’s been stolen?”

“I don’t know… stop asking me,” I replied, and the power thing leaked into my voice, and effectively shut her up.

Then, I passed out from using the voice thing. Classy. I know

* * *

I finally awoke for good, and when I did, nothing seemed too strange. It was just very nice. I was on a deck chair, there were green hills in the distance, and the smell of strawberries filled the air. Everything would’ve been good if my mum wasn’t gone and I didn’t feel like my mouth was on fire.

There was a weird looking drink on the table next to me, complete with an umbrella and all. Height of class here, apparently.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

And there, in all his glory, was my best friend. Looking like he hadn’t slept in a week, and wearing blue jeans and a bright orange shirt. Sadly, I could still see his hooves. Affirming this was a crazy dream and my mum was dead

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I... well, the least I could do ... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoebox in my lap.

I looked into it cautiously. Inside was a black-and-white bull horn. My nose curled, as I saw dried blood all over it. Did I really have to be reminded of the event that took my mother and has this gore surrounding me?

Why Grover would think I would want this, I didn’t know.

"So, the Minotaur killed my mother.”

Grover flinched “ Percy, names have power,”

“I don’t care, this name killed my mother.”

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

There was stifling silence, as I contemplated my life.

God, I was a joke. Orphaned twice over. My mum had disappeared in a burst of golden light, and I would be forever changed.

I was alone, again. My mother had saved me from loneliness last time, but this time it wouldn’t happen again. I wasn’t going to live with Smelly Gabe. He could go rot in hell for all I care.

I’d… live on the streets if I had to.

Grover was sniffling, and I felt bad for him.

“ It wasn’t your fault,” I told him

“ Yes, it was,” He keened.

I rolled my eyes. “No, it wasn’t. Stop blaming yourself.”

Grover’s eyes glazed over, and I freaked out. Why did that keep happening?

"Come on. Chiron and Mr D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. I struggled to walk, and my legs felt slightly wobbly, but I decided to blame it on the sight as we came around the house.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

I assumed we were on the north shore of Long Island because, on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. The landscape was dotted with what appeared to be Greek Mythology - an open-air pavilion, an
amphitheatre, a circular arena but new, and improved. There were kids in bright orange shirts running all over the place, and I couldn’t help but sigh about the fashion travesty.

The kids were doing weird stuff though. I saw archery targets, and kids were using actual bows and arrows. There were also some sword fights, and I could’ve sworn I saw some sword fighting. Weirdest of all, there seemed to be winged horses. Like. They had actual wings.

Down at the end of a porch, sat two men, seemingly playing cards. One of them was a bit… strange, looking. He was a bit on the chubby side and looked wild. He gave me massive gambler vibes, which instantly put me on high alert.

There was also the blond-haired girl from earlier, the nosy one.

"That's Mr D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron... ."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

I recognised him immediately. No one could forget someone who wore a tweed jacket, it was a statement and a half.

"Mr Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

He turned to look at me, smiling. He had eyes that seemed to twinkle like they did whenever he sprung us a surprise pop quiz. I had learnt to dread it.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

I was right to dread it. “ Yeah, about that, sorry. Don’t play,” I replied, trying to hold back the memories of Smelly Gabe

“Foolish child. Not appreciating the calibre of the game. I suppose I should introduce you. Welcome to Camp half-blood. Tada.”

“Um, thanks?”

Really loving the enthusiasm.

"Annabeth?" Mr Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, You killed a minotaur! or Wow, you're so awesome! or something like that.

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, and I expected her to say some kind of praise.

Instead, I got, “Surprised a pretty boy like you actually has any sense of self-preservation. Normally you’re daft as. You probably still are.” The next thing I knew, she was darting off, and I was standing there gaping.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr Brunner?". I sounded as flustered as I felt, great.

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr D ... does that stand for something?"

“You know. Using names is a dangerous thing, many beings could kill you for it.”

“ I know. I’m still using them.” I replied

Mr D raised an appraising eyebrow. “ OK child,”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to make a house call Perseus, and I would rather if you didn’t get yourself killed before we can discover your potential.”

"House call?"

“ I came to Yancy Academy to… advise you. Grover told me that he thought you were powerful, and I couldn’t disagree when I arrived. “

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

“I know, it’s a bit insane,” Mr D cut in, rolling his eyes. He waved his hand and wine-filled his empty wine glass.

Then, as if the conversation we were having was of no importance, he resumes his pinochle.

“You do know how to play pinochle, surely? You aren’t a complete plebian?” He raised a precarious eyebrow.

“I’m afraid not,” I replied. Not an ounce of apology in my voice.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?'

“What, you mean before she was brutally squeezed to death. Not going to lie, not many words were said other than screaming.”

Chiron had the decency to wince at this. “Before that. What did she mention about this camp?”

“Well. She always told me the story of how I was adopted. I was a baby. My birth mother had to give me up, or her family would kick her out. My birth father died long before I was born. She did say that both my birth mother and adoptive father wanted to send me to this camo. But she was scared too, once I was here, I apparently couldn’t leave. She tried to keep me close.” I replied glumly

"Typical," Mr D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked, baffled.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoebox—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points. I glared at him. Time and place man.

"Mr D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminium can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

“Wait. Hang on a minute. There’s such thing as a God?” I was all for religion, but having it confirmed was a bit of a wowzer for me.

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavours: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class."

"Zeus," I said. "Hera. Aphrodite. You mean them."

More thunder rumbled. Man up.

"Young man," said Mr D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you."

"But they're stories," I said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinched when he said my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

I looked at Mr D closely, and to my surprise, a few things jumped out. The first was that, while not noticeable, he had a slight aura. It was a deep purple, the colour of grapes. Another was the faint string that seemed to lead off into the distance. It had a slightly pink tinge to it. What the fuck?

There was also the fact that he called me a mortal as if he wasn’t. I peeked over at Grover and saw him continuing to mournfully chew on his can. Yeah. Definitely a God of some kind then. If everything, he was saying was true.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

“Well, then that would be a dickhead move, but they don’t owe me anything. I’m not that important. Besides. I just don’t believe in Gods.”

"Oh, you'd better," Mr D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Yep. A God.

“ Well, Dionysus, will that be you today?”

Mr D’s eyes flashed. “ Be careful with names, mortal. But yes. It would be me today, and your chances are slowly increasing

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

Mr D huffed and waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

If I had doubts earlier, this definitely cleared them up.

"Mr D," he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated. I stared at the line, could that be where it led to?

"Yes," Mr D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair."

The game continued quietly after that, with Chiron eventually winning, to the distaste of Dionysus.

"I'm tired," Mr D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Mr D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

Chiron gave me a quick crash course on the Western Flame. But he kept mentioning a ‘we’. I was included in this we. But why?

"Who are you, Chiron? Who ... who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, and I remembered the fact that he was a Centaur, half-horse half-human.

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want to be answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate. Hopefully, a parent will claim you,"

He rose from his wheelchair, and I couldn’t help but stare. While I knew he was a centaur, there was a big difference between knowing, and seeing.

Chapter Text

Getting over the fact Chiron was half-horse was pretty easy, to be honest. My main concern was to avoid being behind him, and his rear-end. I’d done my time in life doing pooper-scooper patrol a few times, and it was not an experience that I particularly wanted to revisit. No thank you. I’ll pass.

I could feel the curiosity of the campers as I passed the volleyball pit. The feeling of it made my skin writhe. Someone pointed at the minotaur horn clutched in my hand, while another one just said an eloquent “That’s him.”

Really? I never would’ve guessed.

Most of the campers appeared to be older than me. The satyrs scattered all over also seemed to be bigger than Grover.

Adding to a cultish feel were the shirts that were worn by everyone. An eyesoring, bright orange t-shirt, with the words ‘CAMP HALF-BLOOD’, emblazoned across them.

God, whoever designed those shirts needed to be kicked off the design team.

The most jarring thing of all, was the pant-less satyrs. I’m all for body acceptance but seeing the sight of bare shaggy hinds was a bit of a shock to the system.

They all stared at me like they were expecting something as well. I felt like I was supposed to do a twirl, or flip, or anything rather than let out an awkward smile.

I turned back to the farmhouse while Chiron rattled on. Being further away from it put its size into perspective. It was massive, with four stories. It also had the vibe of an upscale seaside resort, with its blue paint and white trimmings, as well as the wrap-around porch.

As I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane, that was demanding to be looked out, something else caught my eye. The velvet curtain had been moved slightly, and a shadow appeared. The feeling of being watched pricked me.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing.

I got the feeling he was being truthful, but only half truthful. I trusted my gut, and my gut told me that something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his light-hearted tone now a little forced. I could sense his previous mood of happiness had been soured slightly. I couldn’t quite determine what the second emotion was though. "Lots to see."

I was led to the strawberry fields. Caring for the fields was a core part of camp culture, as it helped pay the bills,
“The strawberries take almost no effort to grow,” Chiron explained. He said Mr D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.
And fair enough, hustle when you can. As a born New Yorker, or at least a raised New Yorker, I respected a hustle.

I watched as a satyr played his pope. As he played his song, a line of bugs marched out of a strawberry patch. It made me think of Grover, and if he would rather do this than get chewed out by Mr D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron. "I mean ... he was a good protector. Really. It was my fault for leaving him."

Chiron sighed. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He found me, and here I am at camp, not dead!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said solemnly. “But his fate is not of my decision. That choice lies solely with Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders to decide. It is unlikely that this assignment will be considered a success. He lost you in New York when he never should’ve left you. Adding to that, the fact that only one of your family members stayed safe, and you dragged him over the property line, the council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part.”

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced, “Unfortunately this was his second chance. The last time was… a disaster. The Council was not anxious to give him this chance, and I advised him to wait as well… he’s still so small for his age.”

Guilt pounded me, made worse by the remorse that was radiating off of Chiron. If I hadn’t given Grover the slip in New York, he may not be in this situation. I was a terrible friend.

"How old is he?" He didn’t look very old now, so how young was he for his first chance? That didn’t seem fair

"Oh, twenty-eight." Ok, never mind. He probably was old enough last time, there goes that argument…

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible. That’s six years of puberty." I shuddered at the thought

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

Once again, I managed to sour Chiron’s mood completely.

However, something about the way Chiron worded my mum’s fate bugged me. He said stayed safe, not stayed alive, as if the word ‘death’ was being avoided. That could be Chiron trying to protect me, but given his earlier remark of me being a myth to explain a mother' death, I thought that might be unlikely.
The beginnings of a hopeful fire started in my mind.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that is real ..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened. Dread practically radiated off of him.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now ... until we know more ... I would urge you to put that out of your mind." I could feel the wariness in droves now.

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

The woods were more like a forest, to be honest. The trees were tall and thick, and towered over me. It seemed peaceful, but foreboding if that was possible. It easily took up a quarter of the valley, and it made me wonder what America was like before colonisation.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?" Who had that stuff casually lying around?

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armoury later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armoury, but with everything that was going on right now, that seemed like the least of my worries. There was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much, given the fact he was half horse (heh)), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheatre, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall." Usually lethal? How reassuring.

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls. Slightly impractical, to be honest.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked. A fair question, in my opinion

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" I decided to drop the subject. Apparently, common sense wasn’t normal here, then.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen. The only similarity between them all, was a big brass number above each door. Other than that, completely different.

Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the centre of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smouldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. She looked kind. I smiled at her, resolving to come back after, and talk to her.

The ‘head’ cabins, if that’s how you wanted to describe it, were cabins one and two. They looked to be matching cabins, both looking just as foreboding as the other, both looking like mausoleums. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest, with gaudy bronze doors that shimmered with lightning bolts. Cabin two instead had slimmer columns, with peacocks engraved into the doors.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I gazed around the other cabins, trying to determine which ones were empty. I was drawn to two cabins, on opposite sides.

One of the cabins was cabin three. It wasn’t as high and mighty as cabins one and two. Instead, it was low and solid, with an exterior of grey studded stone, embedded with pieces of seashell and coral. It reminded me of Montauk beach strangely, despite looking nothing like it. It reminded me of mum, and sent a pang through my heart. I went to approach it, but another cabin drew me in.

I turned around, my gaze falling instinctively onto cabin 10. It was a wooden cabin, with a blue roof. It had pillars, and a checkerboard deck, as well as grey walls. Doves decorated the outside of it, and you could see curtains that draped elegantly across the windows, from the outside. I started to walk towards the cabin, almost in a trance, only to be stopped by Chiron.

“Where are you going, dear boy?” He asked, with a bewildered look on his face. However, rather than sensing confusion, I sensed shock, like something had happened, that Chiron hadn’t expected.

Seemingly shaking himself, Chiron put a hand on my shoulder. “Come along, Percy.” I obliged, and followed him.

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red. I felt like I should have a grudging respect for it, but I couldn’t. The pure anger and nastiness I felt from the cabin made me uncomfortable. The décor only made it worse.
The paint job looked like a poorly done one, with bright red paint splashed on haphazardly. Barded wire lined the road, and a stuffed boar's head hung over the doorway, just to sell the image. Inside, I could see a bunch of buff, mean-looking kids, wrestling and arguing amongst one another.

The loudest was a particularly buff and mean-looking girl, who looked about thirteen or fourteen. She reminded me of all my childhood bullies, and as I walked passed, she made direct eye contact with me, and just sneered. What I’d done to her, I have no idea.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here. And if you do, run for the hills."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really ..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am, all that and more."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?" I blurted out, before looking away, embarrassed.

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish ... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed. As long as the gods fool around, I will be around."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list. Maybe not even Top One Thousand Things, even.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again. He seemed to do that a lot. Guess that’s what being three thousand years old would do to you.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven, seemingly absorbed.

When we reached her, she looked me over critically. I wondered if she was gonna remind me of my drool or not.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."
I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the cabin. Compared to cabin ten, or cabin three, this cabin had no draw to it at all. It looked like any old summer camp cabin. It was worn down, with peeling brown paint. Over the doorway was a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

The inside was packed with people, and it looked like the floor was slept on head to toe, with barely an inch of space in between. It looked like an evacuation centre after a natural disaster.

When the campers noticed Chiron, they all stood and bowed respectfully, which seemed a bit strange to me. Chiron didn’t enter, as he didn’t fit, but he just smiled at the campers, before turning to me.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools. I could already see the thoughts in their head, and could sense some of their emotions toward me as well.

Attraction came from some of the younger ones, which I found unsettling. While I had been called pretty boy for a good portion of my life, I didn’t really attract… that sort of attention. Hopefully, it would earn me some brownie points.

Some of the other cabinmates sneered at me, or just looked disinterested.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

Naturally, I lacked any grace, and tripped over the door on the way in. There were some snickers, but I recovered quickly, flashing them all a bright smile.

"Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven.” Annabeth announced, waving her hand at the cabin.

"Is pretty boy regular, or undetermined?" Somebody asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined," wincing.

Everybody groaned.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there." I blushed a little and flashed him a shy smile.

The guy was around nineteen by the looks of it, and he seemed pretty cool. He was tall and muscular and had cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile, both of which suited him. He wore an orange tank top, and I had to look away to not stare. He also wore cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace, with five different coloured beads, all made of clay. The one thing that was unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar, running from just below his right eye to his jaw. It looked like an old knife slash.

“This is Luke,” Annabeth said, her voice sounding off. I looked over, and caught her blushing. When she saw me looking, her face hardened, and she turned away. This, luckily, hid my reaction, as I saw a yellow string that attached to her finger, and trailed towards Luke. I turned to look where it ended, and it drooped right before it hit Luke, as if it didn’t want to connect.

What the hell?

I was broken away from this mystery by Annabeth, who continued on her previous introduction. “He’s your counsellor for now.”

"For now?" I asked.

"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 travellers."

I nodded, pondering over his use of patron, rather than dad.

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given me. I had nothing to put there to mark it as my own, no luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horn. I thought about setting that down, but then I remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves. Probably not a good idea.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told me. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind me. What have I done this time?

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?" I stared at her, completely baffled.

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

My temper flared. This week had not been good. My mum was gone, and I don’t know if I would ever get her back. I kept seeing things I didn’t understand, like flying strings through the air. My whole belief of the world had just been challenged, and on top of that, wherever I went, people seemed to expect something from me. And if they didn’t expect something from me, they were laughing at me. I couldn’t win.

“What,” I hissed “is your problem. Like genuinely, what is it? Just because I killed the stupid Minotaur-“

“Don’t talk like that!” Annabeth cut me off. “Do you even know how many kids at this camo wish they’d had your chance? They train for this!”

“Train to what? Almost get killed, and then watch as their mum dies? That’s a pretty shitty thing to train for, Annabeth!”

Annabeth recoiled. Whether it was at my language, or my words, I wasn’t sure. Maybe a mixture of both. “No… to fight the Minotaur. That’s what we train for. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss…”

“So am I,” I scoffed. “I would’ve happily given the chance to fight the minotaur to someone else. In fact, if I could go back 2 months, I would! Smelly Gabe and all…” I muttered that last part.
“Anyways, if the thing I fought, truly was the Minotaur. Like, the ones from the stories…”

"Yes.”

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

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

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up. That’s normal."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

I thought about Mrs Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur ... I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sounded whiny, even to myself, but right then I didn't care. "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."

I pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or ... your parent."

She stared at me, waiting for me to get it.

"My mum is Sally Jackson," I said. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mum, Percy. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

“I mean, it could be my mum as well,” I replied.

“No, she’s mortal. You just said that.” Annabeth replied, frustrated.

I winced. I didn’t like telling people this, it always opened me up to jokes. “My mum isn't my biological mum,” I muttered, looking down.

“What?” Annabeth replied, confusion permeating the air.

“I was adopted when I was a baby.” I revealed, looking up at her. Realisation shone in her eyes. “For all I know, both my parents are dead. My birth mother met my mum once, but that means nothing. She could be dead.”

Annabeth sighed, “Regardless, one of your biological parents is still alive.”

“How can you know that? Do you know who they are?”

"No, of course not."

"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."
“This all was covered in the orientation video, Percy. Did you not bother watching that?” Annabeth snapped, seemingly reaching the end of her rope.

“I wasn’t shown an orientation video, Annabeth.” I snapped back

She faltered, “Chiron didn’t show you?”

“No?”

“..Oh,” She licked her lips. “Um, I’ll try to cover the basics, see if you relate to them. You were diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, right?”

I nodded.

“And you probably have a terrible track record with schools. Moving around constantly, never able to stay in one place. Kicked out a lot for things that weren’t even your fault. Seeing things that can’t be explained?”

I frowned. “How - What does that have to do with anything?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And ADHD—you're impulsive, and can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

“What about the other effects of ADHD?”

“For lots of it, it might be evolution, or results from instincts. And it just ended up getting mixed in. Hyperfocus could result from having to get things done or you’d die. RSD might be from a time when being rejected meant dying. It’s hard to know. Most of it has just combined over time.”
"You sound like ... you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're a half-blood."

A half-blood.

I was reeling with so many questions I didn't know where to start.

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

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets. What was her problem?!

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through it Friday night."

''Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance."

I felt like I was intruding on something…

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. "Who's this little pretty boy? Looks like a runt."

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Like ... the war god?"

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

"No," I said, recovering my wits. "It explains the bad smell. And the general… personality."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy."

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

"Clarisse—" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

As much as it seemed to pain Annabeth, she stayed out of it. I didn’t know she cared that much. Guess I grew like a fungus.

Besides, I needed to do this. I’d moved through enough school to know, that if you don’t fight your first battle yourself, it sets a precedent for bullies. I was the new kid, I needed to earn a rep.

I handed Annabeth my minotaur horn and got ready to fight, but before I knew it, Clarisse had me by the neck and was dragging me toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom. Not the swirly? Really? Be original at least.

I was kicking and punching. I'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged me into the girls' bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking—as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out—that if this place belonged to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.

Clarisse's friends were all laughing, and I was trying to find the strength I'd used to fight the Minotaur, but it just wasn't there.

"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. If he’s anything, he’s Aphrodite material. All beauty, no brawn. Pathetic."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clarisse bent me over on my knees and started pushing my head toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like shit. As my head got closer and closer to the toilet, I felt a pressure building.

Refusing to go without a fight, I yelled at her, “Go eat shit, Clarisse!”
I felt Clarisse let go of my head. I look up in confusion, and to my horror, I watched as Clarisse reaches into a toilet. I watch, transfixed, as Clarisse obeys my command. Disgusted, I turned around and vomited into the toilet. When Clarisse comes to it, she screamed at me.

“You absolute bitch Prissy!” Even angrier than before, Clarisse approached with a shit-covered hand.

The same tug in my gut started rising, and then I heard the plumbing rumble. A final tug in my stomach pulled, and water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind me.

I turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up, too, and together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my gut lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn't been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She was standing in the same place, staring at me in shock.

I looked down and realized I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me. I didn't have one drop of water on my clothes. Nothing.

I stood up, my legs shaky.

Annabeth said, "How did you ..."

"I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave me a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, pretty boy. You are totally dead."

I probably should have let it go, but I said, "You want to gargle toilet water again, Clarisse? Or maybe even get reacquainted with the taste of shit? Close your mouth."

Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stared at me. I couldn't tell whether she was just grossed out or angry at me for dousing her. She was definitely grossed out about Clarisse’s eating act though.

"What?" I demanded. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," she said, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."

Chapter Text

People say gossip spreads like a wildfire, which is especially true at a summer camp, apparently…

Word spread pretty much immediately. Wherever I went, hauntings of toilet water and shit followed me. The one thing that got me through was that I wasn’t the one who ate shit. However, I also felt extremely guilty.

While Clarisse had been bullying me, she hadn’t deserved what I did to her. I didn’t even know how I did it, it just happened. It scared me.

Regardless, word caught on quite quickly that I wasn’t someone to be messed with. I wasn’t complaining. It meant there was less chance of me doing it to someone else.

Annabeth was luckily still sticking by me, as she graciously didn’t kick me out the moment she was soaked in sewer water. I got the feeling I was running on limited time though.

She showed me a few more places: the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), 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.

I was shown a few more places by Annabeth. The metal shop, where there were swords being forged by literal kids, the arts-and-crafts room, where a giant goat-man was being sand-blasted by satyrs (I could see Grover doing that). The coolest place I saw was the climbing wall, wish had two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, and spewed lava, while clashing together if you didn’t get to the top fast enough. It was sick.

I absentmindedly wondered what the risks of death were.

We eventually returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins.

"I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

"Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets. And that you had to watch… y’know”

"Whatever."

"It wasn't my fault."

She looked at me dubiously, and I realised how weird, and blame-shoving that sounded. I had made water shoot out of the bathroom, and I’d forced someone to do something they obviously wanted to do. I didn’t understand how, but the toilets had responded to me, and Clarisse had obeyed me. It was terrifying.

"You need to talk to the Oracle," Annabeth said.

"Who?"

"Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron."

I looked into the lake, despairing at yet another vague answer. I wished someone would just give me a damn answer.

My heart jumped when I saw two teenage girls looking back at me from the base of the river, about twenty metres below. Their brown hair floated loosely around their shoulders, and minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved as if I were a long-lost friend.

I didn't know what else to do. I waved back, smiling awkwardly.

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

“Naiads,” I repeated. That was the final straw. “I want to go home.”

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

“Kids who can force people to do their bidding?” I asked bitterly.

Annabeth winced. “No. I mean not human. Not completely human at least. Half-human.”

"Half-human and half-what?"

“I think you know.”

I kind of did. Recent events had proved I could do things that a human could. It scared me. But I had no idea who could be my parent. It’s not like I had the hint most kids had.

"God," I said. "Half-god."

Annabeth nodded. “Whoever your godly parent is, they’re still out there Percy. They’re a god.”

"That's ... crazy." I had never felt like I was anything special. I mean, people sometimes took another look when they saw me, but since I was young, I’d been told I was unsettling, and not in the good way.

"Is it? What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they've changed their habits in the last few millennia? "

"But those are just—" I almost said myths again. Then I remembered Chiron's warning that in two thousand years, I might be considered a myth. "But if all the kids here are half-gods—"

"Demigods," Annabeth said. "That's the official term. Or half-bloods."

"Then who's your parent?"

Annabeth straightened, looking rather snooty if I was being honest. “Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle.”

“And my parent? Whomever it is?”

“Undetermined," Annabeth said, "like I told you before. Nobody knows.”

"Except my mother. She knew."

"Maybe not, Percy. Gods don't always reveal their identities."

I pondered this. If that was true, how did my mum know my birth mother wanted me to come to this camp. It wasn’t the kind of camp you would find on a brochure, as it was a bit… specific. Which meant, if my birth mother wanted me to come to this camp… “Hang on. Annabeth, I’ve just realised something. I know which of my parents is a god!” I realised.

“How, Percy. You said you never met them.” Annabeth replied flatly.

“Well, my mum said that my birth mother wanted to send me to this camp, right. Which is a bit weird, considering this isn’t well… a typical camp like you said. If she wanted me sent here, she would’ve known I was a demigod. She gave me up because my birth father was dead, so she had no option. Which meant, she has to be my godly parent. Which means my mum knew who my birth mother was!” I was overcome by this realisation. It wasn’t life-changing, as I had never thought about it, but it was nice to know what gender my godly parent was.

I didn’t feel the need to mention that my adoptive father also wanted to send me here. That was a realisation for another day.

Annabeth looked at me, calculating. “If that’s true, perhaps your mum knew who your godly parent was. But there is always a chance that your birth mother lied, and your father was your godly parent. We’ll only know for certain if you’re claimed. That sometimes happens.”

"You mean sometimes it doesn't?"

“The gods are… busy, Percy. They have a lot of kids, and a lot of responsibilities. Somwtimes they simply don’t care about us Percy. They ignore us.”

I thought about some of the kids I'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come. I'd known kids like that at Yancy Academy, shuffled off to boarding school by rich parents who didn't have the time to deal with them. But gods should behave better. It was pathetic. If my mum, and I was sure it was my mum now - I felt it in my gut – didn’t claim me, I’d storm Olympus.

"So, I'm stuck here," I said. "That's it? For the rest of my life?"

“It depends,” Annabeth said. “Some campers only stay the summer. If you’re a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you’re typically not a powerhouse. The monsters might ignore you, so you can typically get away with a few months of summer training while living in the mortal world for the rest of the year. But for some of us demigods, it’s too dangerous to leave. The moment you step out into the mortal world, you’re hunted down by monsters. They can sense us, so they come to challenge us, or take revenge. They generally ignore us until we’re old enough to cause trouble. That normally happens when you’re around ten or eleven years old. But after that, you’re free game. If you don’t make your way to camp, you get killed off. Very few manage to survive on the outside, and some of them are famous. You would know a few of their names. It’s rare to be out in the mortal world without knowing you’re a demigod by the time you’re in your twenties though, as you’d probably be dead.”

“So this place is practically a safe haven? Since monsters can’t get in?”

“Not unless they’re intentionally stocked in the forest or summoned as a joke or to practice against.”

“Why would you want to joke around with a monster? That seems a bit fatal.”

Annabeth ignored me, and continued, “the point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters alike out. Mortals only see a strawberry farm from the outside.”

“So, are you a year rounder?”

Annabeth nodded, and pulled out a leather necklace. It was just like Lukes, with five colourful beads strung on it. The only difference was the big gold ring string through it, like a college ring.

“I’ve been here ever since I was seven.” She said. “There’s a tradition in camp, where you get a bead for surviving another year. I’ve been here for a long time, even longer than most of the counsellors. And they’re all in college.”

“Why did you come so young?” I asked, then wrinkled my nose. A bitter emotion filled the air, so strong I could almost taste it.

“None of your business.” Annabeth replied shortly. Ok, that was an out-of-bounds conversation then.

“OK,” time to redirect the question, “does that mean I could just… walk out of here if I wanted to?”

“It would be suicide, but yes. I guess you could. Only with Mr D’s and Chirons permission though, which would be hard to get. They don’t give permission until the end of the summer session, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you’re granted a quest. But that barely happens now, especially after the last time…”

Her voice trailed off. I could tell from both her tone and the emotions in the air, that the last time hadn’t gone well at all.

“Back when I was sick, and you were feeding me that stuff-”

“Ambrosia.”

“Right, ambrosia. You asked me about the summer solistice?”

Annabeth tensed, “do you know something?”

“No… I don’t. But back at my school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned something about the summer solstice, and that apparently they don’t have much time, because of a deadline. Do you know what they meant?”

Annabeth clenched her jaw, before replying. “I wish. Chiron and the satyrs know something, but they’re keeping me in the dark. I hate not knowing. All I know is that something is wrong with Olympus, and it’s pretty major. I don’t know what though, because the last time I was there, everything seemed so… normal.”

“You’ve been to Olympus?” I asked, that being the main thing that caught my attention.

“Yeah. Being a year-rounder can have its perks. Some of us, - Luke and,” she cringed here, “Clarisse,” a wave of embarrassment came over me, “and I, as well as a few others – we took a field trip up there during the winter solstice. The winter solstice is their big annual council, so it was pretty impressive.”

I had so many questions,”what do you mean by ‘up there’. And how did you even get there?”

“The Long Island Railroad, obviously. You get off at Penn station, for the Empire State Building. It has s special elevator to the six hundredth floor.” She looked at me like I was dumb. “You are from New York, right?”

I didn’t appreciate the sass. And I was almost certain there were only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but I didn’t feel like getting into that. “Oh, sure…”

“Anyways, so right after we visited,” Annabeth continued, “the weather got crazy weird, almost as if the gods were fighting. Since then, I’ve also overheard a few satyrs talking. The best thing that I can figure out is that something important was stolen. If it isn’t returned by the summer solstice, there will be big trouble. When you arrived, I was hoping that, well, you knew something. Athena gets along with practically everyone, apart from Ares and Poseidon, and she doesn’t care all too much for Aphrodite. So I was hoping we would’ve been able to work together.”

I shook my head. If I could’ve helped her, I would’ve, but at the moment I was too hungry, tired, and mentally overloaded to even entertain a few questions.

“I need a quest…” Annabeth muttered quietly. “I’m not too young. If they would tell me the problem, I would be able to figure it out.”

I could smell the barbecue smoke starting up. Annabeth noticed my distraction, and told me to go join my cabin, as dinner would be in thirty minutes. I nodded my agreement, but there was something I need to do first.

I approached the ever-constant fire in the middle of the cabins, and sat on the edge of it, hoping to talk to the girl who seemed to be in the middle of the hearth.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me joining you. I just need some time to… think.”

The girl smiled softly, “of course I don’t mind. The hearth is a space for anyone.”

Thanking her, I took the time to reflect on the day. Too much had happened, I needed a brief respite from everything before it all became too much and I just… shut down.

My mum was gone. Gods were real, and one of them was my mother. I didn’t know how to feel about it.

The worst part about all of this was my ability to convince others to do things against their will. I hadn’t even meant to make Clarisse do what she did. It reminded me of all the times I’d forced Gabe to do something. I had too much power in my voice. I could see Clarisse trying to resist my command, and I could still see the terror in her eyes, as she was forced.

What would’ve happened if I said something even worse than ‘eat shit’? I could’ve easily told her to go hurt herself. I wouldn’t’ve meant it. But would’ve she obeyed? I had no way of knowing. I could not risk it.

I had a quick temper; I was aware of that. I could easily lash out by accident and hurt someone I care about.

My voice could cause more harm than good. The thing that would be best for everyone, would be if I just shut up apparently. Teachers had always said I talk too much. I’d tried to stop speaking so much, but there had never been a motivator. Now there was a big damn motivator. It’s not like anyone here knew me well anyways, apart from Grover and Chiron. They wouldn’t notice if I spoke less.

I wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. And even then, I would only say the bare minimum. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Smiling in thanks to the girl, I made my way back to cabin eleven.

When I got in, everybody was talking and messing about, waiting for dinner. Now that my head was a bit clearer, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, and mischievous smiles. If my old teachers thought I was a troublemaker due to my looks, they would’ve thought these people were downright delinquents.

The counsellor, Luke, came over to me. He had the same traits as many of the other kids, however, it was slightly marred by the scar on his right cheek. It didn’t stop the mischievous smile though or stop me from blushing.

“Found you a sleeping bag,” he said. “And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store.”

I didn’t know whether he was kidding or not about stealing, but regardless, the fact that he thought about me, made me oddly pleased.

I smiled shyly at him, “Thanks.”

“No problem. It’s what I do as a cabin counsellor,” for some reason, I felt slightly dejected about that. Luke pushed his back against the wall. “Tough first day?”

I looked at him sceptically. He would have heard what happened by now. “That’s to say the least.”

“Ah, I heard about that. Don’t worry kid, it happens a lot. Powers are hard to get used to.” My heart skipped a beat at the use of the word, ‘powers’.

“Besides. Not like the gods are here to help us. They barely help us with anything. Makes a hard life even harder.” Luke continued, oblivious to my reaction.

“You ever meet your dad?” I blurt, before freezing. I shouldn’t be talking.

“Once.”

I waited, thinking he would tell a story. Most kids would tell the story of meeting their dad, especially if it was a god. I was also curious if it was how he got the scar. That wasn’t really my business though.

Sensing my gaze, Luke looked up and managed a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it Percy. The campers here are good people, everyone is an extended family. Plus, you have your cabin mates. Unless you are one of the big three’s children, that is. But no child of the big three has been in a cabin here for decades.”

“Big three?” I asked, figuring it was a safe thing to say.

“The Big Three are Hades, Poseidon and Zeus. Hades doesn’t have a cabin though. I wouldn’t worry about it. Now come on, it’s dinnertime.”

Almost immediately after he said that, a horn blew in the distance.

“Eleven, fall in!” Luke yelled.

The cabin of twenty filed into the commons yard. We lined up in order of senority, meaning I was obviously dead last. Cabins came from the surrounding cabins as well, apart from the ones that were empty, obviously.

We marched up the hell to the mess pavilion. It felt a but like an out of body experience, as I saw all the creatures surrounding us.

Satyrs joined from the meadows, and naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. Some girls even came out of the woods - and I mean straight out of the woods. I saw a girl who looked about nine or ten, just melt from the side of a maple tree, before skipping up the hill.

In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads.

Walking into the pavilion was even weirder. Torches blazed around marble columns. There was a fire burning in a bronze brazier in the centre, and there was no girl in it this time.

Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth, and trimmed in purple. It felt far fancier than anything I was sued to. There were four empty tables, but cabin elevens table was overcrowded. I had to squeeze in, with half my butt hanging off, in order to fit on.

I spotted Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr D, a few other satyrs, and two plump boys who looked like Mr D. One of them caught me looking, and smiled. I looked away, cheeks burning from being caught.

Chiron stood to one side, the tables being too small for him, centaur and all.

Annabeth sat at table six, with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all sharing grey eyes and honey-blonde hair.

Clarisse sat behind me at the Ares’s table, thankfully with her back to me. I felt guilt settling within me, and my desire to talk less strengthened. However, it sounded like she was having fun, as she was laughing and belching and laughing alongside her siblings.

Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!"

Everybody else raised their glasses. "To the gods!"

Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and barbecue. My glass was empty, but Luke leaned over, and murmured, "Speak to it. Whatever you want—non-alcoholic, of course."

I said, "Cherry Coke."

The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid.

Then I had an idea. "Blue Cherry Coke."

The soda turned a violent shade of cobalt. I got a pang, as it made me feel a bit closer to my mum.

I toasted to her, telling myself she was not gone. She’s in the underworld, she has to be.

"Here you go, Percy," Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket.

I loaded my plate up, and was about to dig in, starving, when I noticed everybody else getting up.

They were carrying their plates towards the fire in the cetnre of the pavilion. I was obviously missing something, but I wasn’t sure what.

“Come on,” Luke told me.

As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire, the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.

Luke murmured in my ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell."

"You're kidding."

His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food.

Luke threw in a cluster of red grapes, and bowed his head, “Hermes.”

I was up next, and I had no idea what to say. It felt like I had been asked a question by the teacher, when I hadn’t been paying attention.

Finally, I made a silent plea.

Whoever you are, tell me, please.

I scraped a slice of brisket into the flames, and was pleasantly surprised by the smell.

It didn’t smell like burnt food, but rather of hot chocolate, and baked brownues, hamburgers on the girll and wildflowers. A bunch of scents that would never’ve smelt good before, but smelled heavenely in the moment. I could almost believe the gods could live off that smoke.

When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for our attention.

Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'd better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five presently holds the laurels."

A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table.

"Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new camper today. Peter Johnson."

I heard whispers filling the air, and dread filled me. So they’d heard then.

Chiron murmured something.

"Er, Percy Jackson," Mr. D corrected. The whispers intensified. "That's right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on."

Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheatre, where Apollo's cabin led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about the gods and ate s'mores and joked around. I could feel the stares at me lessening, as my novelty apparently waned, as they realised I wasn’t going to do anything.

Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the conch horn blew again, and we all filed back to our cabins. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on my borrowed sleeping bag.   

My fingers curled around the Minotaur's horn. I thought about my mum, but I had good thoughts: her smile, the bedtime stories she would read me when I was a kid, the way she would tell me not to let the bedbugs bite.

When I closed my eyes, I fell asleep instantly.

That was my first day at Camp Half-Blood.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, I fell into an almost normal routine, if normal included the fact that my lessons were taught by satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur from the ancient myths.

I tortured my brain each morning with Ancient Greek lessons from Annabeth. It was a bit weird talking about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, but I was trying to get used to it. Ancient Greek wasn’t super hard, surprisingly, but it was only slightly better than English. It took a while for me to be able to read without a headache, but I think I’d managed.

The rest of the day, I was rotated throughout activities, looking for something I could be good at. Chiron attempted to teach me archery, but it was pretty clear I wasn’t destined to be an archer when he had to de-snag an arrow from his tail.

I wasn’t the best at foot racing. I wasn’t the worst either though, as running from my yearly bullies had really increased my speed. It was still embarrassing to be slower than nymphs though.

I only approached the wrestling mats when the Ares cabin wasn’t around. I knew that if I even neared the mats when Clarisse was there, that would be the end of me. However, no matter who I versed, I was normally beaten by them.

I reassured myself with the fact that I was new here, and hadn’t built the strength that everyone else had, but it was still humiliating.

I was, for some reason, decent at music, which was strange.

My favourite activities were probably winged-horseback riding and canoeing. I could tell that people were disappointed by this, as it wasn’t what they expected from someone who beat the Minotaur.

It didn’t help the senior campers and counsellors as well. I could tell they were watching me, trying to determine who my parent was. It seemed they all had the same thoughts as Annabeth, and weren’t certain my mother was the Goddess. I knew that my birth mother told my mum the truth, but they didn’t seem to trust that.

To be honest, it was their loss. They had far more options to consider, and I didn’t fit any of the stereotypes. I didn’t have the strength of Ares, or the archery skills of Apollo (clearly). I wasn’t a genius like Athena, and didn’t have a way with plants like Demeter. I didn’t possess Hephaestus’s skill of metalwork, or Dionysus’ way with vines. I didn’t have the natural charm of the Aphrodite Cabin, as I often stumbled over my words. My mum called it endearing, I just called it embarrassing.

Luke had suggested I might be a child of Hermes, but I doubted it. I knew my parent was a woman.

This meant that I had lots of senior campers and counsellors trying to talk to me. Wish was a shame for them, because I still refused to speak unless I had to, or if I was asked yes or no questions. It was safer that way, you know? It meant no one could be my puppet.

It seemed that Dionysus had also thought I needed punishment. I had to sharpen the arrows during my free time before dinner, rather than do what everyone else was doing. I was told I would have to do this for a week, which was a slight pain, but I got it.

Despite it, I liked camp. I liked the morning fog over the beach, and the smell of the strawberry fields in the afternoon. I even got used to the strange noises that emerged from the woods in the night. I joined the cultish tradition of scraping part of my meal into the fire at dinner, trying to think of my Godly mother (yes, I insisted it was a woman).

 3 days after I arrived at Camp Half-Blood, I had my first sword-fighting lesson. Cabin eleven gathered in a big circular arena, with Luke as our instructor.

We started with the basics, stabbing and slashing straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armour. I did okay, I guess. I understood what to do, and my reflexes were decent, which is better than other activities.

No blade seemed to feel right in my hands though. They were either too heavy or too light. Too short, or too long. Luke did his best to help me, but he seemed to agree that none of the practice blades seemed to fit me.

When we moved on to duelling in pairs, Luke announced that I would be his partner, since it was my first time.

This, apparently, was a bad thing. One kind partner told me, “Good luck, Luke’s one of the best swordsmen in the last three hundred years.”

This was daunting, but I was hopeful, “Maybe he’ll go easy on me?” I suggested.

The camper just laughed at me, and soon he was proven to be right.

Luke didn’t go easy on me, at all. He demonstrated things the hard way.

I got more and more battered and bruised as he went on." Keep your guard up, Percy," he'd say, then whap me in the ribs with the flat of his blade. "No, not that far up!" Whap! "Lunge!" Whap! "Now, back!" Whap! It was ruthless, if I was being honest.

By the time a break was called, I was drenched in sweat. The drinks cooler was swarmed by everyone, me included. I saw Luke pouring iced water on his head, and liked the idea, so I did the same.

To my surprise, it helped me a bit. I didn’t suddenly feel better, and my arms still ached, but it was slightly better than beforehand.

However, my break from being pummelled was brief, and soon it was time to get beat up again.

“Alright! Everybody, circle up!” Luke ordered, “if Percy doesn’t mind, I want to give a little demo.”

I didn’t have it in me to say no, desperately wanting to impress Luke. So, I decided I was okay with everyone watching me get pounded by him.

The Hermes cabin gathered around, lots of them suppressing smiles. I figured they’d all been in my shoes before, and were looking forward to not being in them. Plus, seeing a little runt being used as a punching bag would probably be amusing to watch.

The technique Luke wanted to demonstrate was a disarming technique. You could twist your enemy’s blade with the flat of your own blade, so that the opponent had no choice but to drop their weapon.

“This is difficult," he stressed. "I've had it used against me. No laughing at Percy, now. Most swordsmen have to work years to master this technique."

This made me feel slightly better, I must admit.

He demonstrated the move on me in slow motion. Sure enough, the sword clattered out of my hand.

“Now, time for the real deal,” Luke said. “We’ll keep sparring until one of us pulls it off, you ready Percy?”

I wasn’t, in fact, but I never would be ready enough, so I nodded anyways. Luke instantly came after me.

I somehow managed to stop him from hitting the hilt of my swords, and I could see his attacks a bit easier. I was able to counter them, but I could feel myself getting tired, and my arms weakening. I tried a final thrust of the sword, and saw Luke’s eyes narrow. He started pressing me with more force, and soon it was obvious I was flagging majorly.

Sure enough, Luke pilled the disarming manoeuvre, and my sword clattered o the ground noisily. I wasn’t too embarrassed though, as I had lasted far longer than I thought I would.

Even better was the fact that, when I looked up, Luke looked vaguely impressed.

“By the gods, Percy, you lasted far longer than I thought you would’ve. By the time you get a balanced sword, and build up endurance, you’ll be an amazing swordsman!” His praise made me blush, and I smiled shyly, thanking him.

***

The next day, I sat with Grover at the lake, after a near-death experience with the climbing wall. Grover had been amazing, scampering to the top like the goat he half was, while I had almost been caught by the lava. My shirt hadn’t escaped unscathed, and had smoking holes in it, while the hair on my forearms had been seared off.

As we watched the naiads bake underwater, I worked up the nerve to ask how the conversation with Mr D had gone.

I don’t know why, but I felt more at ease talking around Grover. I hadn’t made him do anything the whole year we’d been together at Yancy’s, so I felt like I was safe around him.

Grover turned a sickly yellow and the air tasted distressed, almost immediately getting my answer. Despite that, he elaborated.

“Fine, just amazing,” He said, but I didn’t believe that was all.

“So, your career still on track?”

Grover glanced at me nervously, “Chiron told you I want a searchers license?”

“No,” I admitted, point blank. I had no idea what a searcher's license was, but it didn’t seem like the right time to ask him about it. “He just said that you had big plans and needed credit for completing a keeper’s assignment. Did you get that?”

Grover looked down, “Not really. Mr D suspended judgement, saying I hadn’t quite failed or succeeded, so our fates are still tied together. The only way I can prove myself would be if you got a quest, and I went along to protect you. If we came back alive, he might consider the job done…”

My spirits lifted at that,” Well, that’s not so bad, right?”

“Blaa-ha-ha! I may as well be transferred to stable cleaning at this rate. The chances of getting quests are minimal. And if you even managed to get one, why would you bring me?”

I was offended by that, “Of course, I’d bring you!”

Grover seemed to not hear me, as he gazed at the water glumly. “Basket-weaving, must be nice to have a useful skill.”

“Hey man, don’t even worry. My only apparent talents right now are horse riding and canoeing. We can be useless together.”

Grover smiled at me gratefully, and we chatted for a bit more, talking about sword fighting, canoeing, and the pros and cons of each god and goddess. Finally, I asked him about the four empty cabins. I already knew who two of them were for, but I didn’t know who the other two were. Plus, I wanted to know why they were empty.

“Number eight, the silver  cabin, belongs to Artemis.” He said “She vowed to forever be a maiden. So of course, that means no kids. The cabin is an honorary one, if she didn’t have one, she’d be mad.” I nodded.

“What about the others? I know that there’s Hera, Zeus and Poseidon. But why are they empty?”

Grover tensed. We were getting close to a touchy subject then, I gathered.”Yeo. SO number two is Hera. That one’s also honorary. She’s the goddess of marriage, so it would be a bit strange if she went around having affairs with mortals. That, funnily enough, is her dear husband’s job. When we say Big Three, we refer to the three powerful brothers, the sons of Kronos.”

“Zeus, Poseidon, Hades.”

“yep, exactly. After the battle with the titans, they took lots to decide who got what.”

“Zeus got the sky, Poseidon the sea, and Hades the underworld, right?"

“Uh-huh.”

“Why doesn’t Hades have a cabin then?”

“He doesn’t have a throne on Olympus either. He does his own thing, and gets by, by himself. If he did have a cabin here, however…” Grover shuddered, and the air turned sour. “Well, it wouldn’t be pleasant, let’s just say.”

“In the myths, Zeus and Poseidon had like, bazillion kids, maybe even bajillion. Why are their cabins empty then?”

Grover shifted uncomfortably. “About sixty years ago, after World War II, the Big Three agreed to not sire any more heroes. Their children were too powerful and affected the course of human events too much. World War II’s harm was worsened by the presence of the Big Three’s children. There were even amounts of them on each side, at they caused mass destruction. When the war was finished, they agreed to not sire any more children. Poseidon and Zeus forced Hades as well. They all swore on the River Styx, as well.”

Thunder boomed ominously.

“That’s the most serious oath you can make, right?”

Grover nodded.

“So the brothers kept their nerves, and had no kids?”

Grover scoffed. “No. Seventeen years ago, Zeus broke it. There was this TV starlet, with one of those big fluffy eighties hairdos. He apparently just couldn’t help himself. When their child was born, a little girl names Thalia, well, River Styx takes their promises pretty seriously. However, Zeus got off easy, due to the fact he was immortal, but his daughter had a terrible fate.”

“That’s not fair! It wasn’t her fault!” I protested.

Grover hesitated, and I could taste his guilt. “Percy… children of the Big Three are far more powerful than any other half-blood. Gods like Aphrodite, Athena and Ares could never sire a child as powerful as them. This means that they have a strong aura, which is a scent that attracts monsters. Let’s just say that Hades wasn’t terribly pleased when he found out that his brother had broken the oath. He unleashed monsters from the depths of Tartarus to torment Thalia. A satyr was assigned as her keeper when she was twelve, but he could do nothing/ He tried his best to escort her with the other two half-bloods she’d befriended. They almost made it, even. They got all the way to the top of the hill.”

He pointed across the valley, where the pine tree I’d fought the Minotaur at, sat. “All three of the Kindly Ones were chasing them, along with a horde of hellhounds. They were almost overrun, when Thalia told the satyr to take to other two half-bloods to safety while she held them off. She was wounded and tired, but she didn’t want to live like a hunted animal. The satyr did his best to change her mind, but he had to protect the others, and Thalia refused to change her mind. So, Thalia made her final stand, all alone, at the top of that hell. But as she died, Zeus showed he had a bit of a heart, and turned her into that pine tree. Her spirit helps protect the borders of the valley, and that’s why the hill is now called Half-Blood Hill.

I stared at the pine tree in the distance, dread sinking in my gut. Did that mean they had no form of defence against monsters beforehand, and were constantly waiting to be attacked? No wonder everyone here was so young.

A girl my age, had sacrificed herself to save her friends, and in doing so, she now protected the camp. She’d had a showdown with a whole army of monsters. My victory over the Minotaur was nothing compared to that. If I acted differently, would I have been able to save my mum?

“Grover," I said, "have heroes really gone on quests to the Underworld?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Orpheus. Hercules. Houdini."

"And have they ever returned somebody from the dead?"

"No. Never. Orpheus came close... . Percy, you're not seriously thinking—"

"No," I lied. "I was just wondering. So ... a satyr is always assigned to guard a demigod?"

Grover studied me warily. I hadn't persuaded him that I'd really dropped the Underworld idea, and I didn’t blame him. That wasn’t my smoothest change of topic.

"Not always. We go undercover to a lot of schools. We try to sniff out the half-bloods who have the makings of great heroes. If we find one with a very strong aura, like a child of the Big Three, we alert Chiron. He tries to keep an eye on them, since they could cause really huge problems."

“And you found me… Chiron said you thought I might be something special.”

Grover looked like I’d led him to a trap, “I didn’t… You don’t even think your Godly parent is a man, Percy. You have literally been telling anyone who listens that they’re a woman. You just had a very unusual scent, so I had to call Chiron.”

I felt like I wasn’t being the one reassured, but he was, to be honest.

***

That night, after dinner, there was far more excitement than normal. It was time for the capture the flag that I’d heard so much about.

When the plates were cleared away, the horn sounded, and we all stood at our tables.

There was cheering and hollering as Annabeth, and two of her siblings, ran into the pavilion carrying a silk banner. It was ten feet long, glistening grey, and had a rather pretty painting of a barn owl above an olive tree.

From the opposite side, Clarisse and some of her buddies ran in with another banner, of identical size. But instead of a glistening grey, it was a gaudy grey and had a bloody spear with a boar’s head. Charming, honestly.

I turned to Luke, trying to yell over the racket, “Those are the flags?”

I was too caught up in the excitement to remember not to speak if I was being honest with myself. I’m kind of crap at the oath of silence thing.

“Yeah.”

“Do Ares and Athena always lead the teams?”

“Not always, but often.”

“If a cabin captures one, what happens? Do we just, repaint the flag?”

Luke grinned mischievously. “You’ll see. First, we have to get one.”

“Whose side are we on?”

Luke looked at me slyly, and I could’ve sworn my heart skipped a beat. He was just, cool, you know?

“We’ve made a temporary alliance with Athena. Tonight, we’re getting the flag from Ares, and you’re helping.”

The teams were announced. Athena had Hermes and Apollo, the two biggest cabins. Apparently, privileges had been the currency of choice. Shower times, chore schedules and the best slots for activities had been traded, in order to win support.

Ares had allied themselves with everyone else: Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. From what I’d seen so far, Dionysus’s kids were good athletes, but there were only two of them. Demeter’s kids had an edge with nature skills, and outdoor stuff, but a lot of them had claimed they didn’t like lots of aggression. Hephaestus’s kids were big and burly, from working with metal so often, which scared me a bit, to be honest.

I’d heard that Aphrodite’s cabin wasn’t much of a concern, but I reserved judgement. I found that often, the most overlooked can be the most dangerous. While they liked to gossip and do their hair, I’d seen them training as a cabin, and they were a bit intimidating.

That left Ares’s cabin, of course. A dozen of the biggest, most unpleasant, meanest and intimidating kids on Long Island, or anywhere, to be honest.

Chiron hammered his hoof against the marble of the table.

“Heroes!” He announced grandly. “You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magical items are permitted. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners are allowed to be disarmed but gagging and binding are not allowed. No killing or maiming either! I will serve as both referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!”

He spread his arms, and out of nowhere, a DIY armoury appears.

The tables were covered with equipment: helmets, bronze swords, spears, and ox-hide shields coated in metal. It was astonishing, honestly.

“Whoa,” I said, “We’re using real weapons?”

Luke looked at me as if I were insane. “Unless you want to be skewered by the friendly folk in cabin five, yes. Here- Chiron thought these would fit you well, as you don’t have any armour. You’ll be on border patrol.

My shield was huge. It had a big caduceus in the middle, which was slightly on the nose. I wondered where it came from.

It weighed about a million pounds, and I had to stop myself from staggering the weight of it. I could’ve honestly snowboarded on it, better than I could’ve held it. I hope I wasn’t expected to be speedy. Nymphs were faster than me normally, let alone with a million-pound sword.

My helmet, like everyone else on my team, had a blue horsehair plume on top, while Ares’s team had red plumes on top of theirs.

Annabeth yelled, “Blue team, forward!”

We cheered and shook our swords like hooligans, and followed her down the path to the southern woods. The red team yelled taunts and shit-talked us as they headed off to the north.

I managed to catch up with Annabeth without tripping over my sword somehow. “Hey.”

She kept marching, like the truly charming girl she was. Not even a glance in my direction.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. “Got any magical items you can loan me by any chance? Help a newbie out?”

Annabeth’s hand drifted towards her pocket, as if she was checking if something was still there.

“Just, watch out for Clarisse’s spear.” She said. “You don’t want to even be touched by that thing. Otherwise, don’t worry. We’ll take the banner from Ares. Luke told you that you’re on border patrol, right?”

“Yep, no idea what that means though.”

“It’s easy. Stand by the creek and look pretty, unless the reds approach. You mainly need to keep the reds away. Leave the rest to me, Athena always has a plan.”

She pushed ahead, pretty much leaving me in the dust. She acted like Athena is the only one who can plan as well, jeez.

“Glad you want me in your team, Annabeth. You care so much…” I mumbled.

It was a warm, sticky night. The woods were dark, and fireflies were popping in and out of view. Annabeth had placed me next to a small creek that gurgled over some rocks and then ditched me, and she and the rest of the team scattered into the trees.

I was getting sick of being ditched and overlooked, if I was being honest. Didn’t do things for my ego.

I felt so stupid, standing all alone, with a big, blue-feathered helmet and a shield that was ten times too big for me. The sword in my hand seemed to be unbalanced, like every single other sword I’d tried so far. The grip of it pulled my hand down like a bowling ball.

There was no way anybody would actually attack me, would they? I mean, Olympus had to have liability issues, right?

On second thoughts, probably not, with the amount of kids that died every year.

Far away, the horn blew. Whoops and yells sounded throughout the woods, and the clanking of metal echoed, the sound of kids fighting. A blue-plumed ally from Apollo raced past me like a dear, leaping through the creek, not even looking at me.

Great. I thought I’ll miss the fun, as usual. And be ignored, as usual.

Almost as if I jinxed myself, I then heard a sound that was chilling and sent shivers down my spine.

The sound of a low, canine, growl. It was close, and I had no idea what to do about it. I almost felt like someone was stalking me.

Acting instinctively, I raised my too-big-for-me shield. If I died because of a shitty shield, I was going to haunt both Luke and Chiron.

The growling suddenly stopped, and the feeling receded.

Then, on the other side of the creek, the underbrush exploded, and five Ares warriors emerged, screaming and yelling.

Leading them was Clarisse, and she was out for blood, screaming, “cream the punk!’

Her pig-like eyes glared through the slits of her helmet. She brandished her five-foot-ling spear, the very one that Annabeth told me to avoid – great – and smirked. The barbed metal tip flickered with red light. Her siblings, luckily, only had standard-issue bronze swords, but that wasn’t really making my odds any better.

They charged across the stream, with no help in sight around me. I could run, or I could attempt to not become a Percy-kebab.

I managed to sidestep the first kid’s swing, but as dumb as they looked, these guys weren’t as stupid as the Minotaur (shocker, I know). They surrounded me, and Clarisse thrust at me with her spear. My shield deflected the point, but I could feel a painful tingling all over my body. My hair stood on end, and my shield arm went numb, the air burned.

Great, she has an electric spear, and hates my guts. What good odds for me.

Another Ares kid slammed at my chest with the butt of his sword, causing me to fall.

“Give him a haircut,” Clarisse sneered, “grab his hair.”

I managed to get to my feet, and tried to raise my sword. But Clarisse was quicker, and slammed it aside with her spear, and sparks flew. Great, now both my arms were numb. Just my luck, to be honest.

“Oh wow,” Clarisse mocked, “I’m so scared of this guy. Terrified, even.”

“The flag is that way,” I told her. I hoped I sounded angry, but chances were I didn’t.

“Yeah,” one of her siblings said. “But, you see, pretty boy. We don’t care about the flag. We care about the guy who humiliated our cabin, and made our cabin leader eat shit.”

“Ok, first of all, you humiliate yourself naturally.” This probably wasn’t the best way to start off, “and second of all, I didn’t mean to do that! I don’t know how that happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” someone, I couldn’t peg who, snorted.

Two of them then came at me, and I backed towards the creek, trying to raise my shield. But Clarisse, once again, was too fast. Her spear struck me right in the ribs, and if it wasn’t for my armoured breastplate, I would be a Percy-kebab.

Still, she shocked me, and I kind of froze. One of Clarisse's cabin mates took advantage of this, and slashed his sword across my arm, leaving a solid-sized cut.

Seeing my own blood shocked me, and made me dizzy.

“no blood,” I said feebly.

“Oops,” the guy said sarcastically “guess I lost my dessert privilege. Damn.”

They all approached me, and I started feeling suffocated. I could tell I was going to get more than just that cut.

Desperation leading my actions, I felt that strange tugging feeling again, as I yelled “Stop!”

All of the Ares brutes stopped, and I fell back in horror. I did it again.

I stumbled again, and found myself falling into the river.

I felt myself regaining some energy, as if I’d taken an hour power nap. I didn’t feel like I was wide awake, but I felt slightly rejuvenated.

While all her cabinmates were still frozen by my freaky voice magic, Clarisse unfroze, coming for me.

Luckily, I was feeling stronger on my feet, and Clarisse was still stumbling slightly, due to being stopped by me.

As Clarisse approached, the point of her spear crackled with energy. The moment she thrust her spear forward, I managed to catch the shaft between my shield and sword, as I snapped it like a twig.

She screamed insults at me, “You corpse-breath worm! You snake, you cunt!”

She probably could’ve kept going for ages, but unfortunately for her, I smacked her in the eyes and sent her back to her siblings, who were only just recovering from my voice magic.

I then heard yelling, and elated screams, I turned to see Luke racing towards the boundary line with the red team's banner lifted high. He was flanked by Hermes kids, who were covering his retreat, while a few Apollo kids raced behind him, fighting off the Hephaestus kids, (I wasn’t jealous of them). The Ares brutes got up dazedly, and Clarisse muttered out a curse.

“A trick!” she growled, “it was a godsdamned trick.”

They tried to stagger after Luke, looking like the most uncoordinated attack group, but it was far too late. Everybody converged on the creek, as Luke ran into friendly territory. The blue team exploded into cheers, as the red banner shifted to silver. The boar and spear were replaced with a, you guessed it, huge caduceus, the symbol of cabin eleven.

Luke was picked up by the blue team, and crowd surfed, as everyone carried him on their shoulders. Chiron cantered out of the woods, and blew the conch horn, signalling that the game was over. That we’d won.

I was about to go join team blue, when Annabeth's voice spooked me. She was directly to my right, I the river, or so it seemed. I turned to her voice as she said, “not bad, hero.”

She wasn’t there, to my confusion. Then, the air shimmered, as she remarked, “where in the Hades did you learn to fight like that? Against Clarisse?” and then she materialised, holding a Yankees baseball cap, as if she’d just taken it off.

I felt my anger rising at her. I didn’t even care that she’d been invisible. “This is so not ok Annabeth. You saw her trying to stab me with her electrical spear, and you just watched her do it? Didn’t even think, oh, let me help this kid who has, maybe, 4 days of training. And to make things worse, you obviously planned this.” I fumed, “You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while Luke was sent around the flank. You had no regard for the fact that Clarisse doesn’t have a petty thing against me. She genuinely hates me. I can feel it so intensely every time I’m even 10 metres away from her.” Annabeth frowned in confusion here, but I ignored it.

Annabeth’s face then cleared, as she shrugged. “I told you, Athena always has a plan,” I scoffed at this, and she raised an eyebrow, “besides, I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but… it seemed like you didn’t need my help.” She said nonchalantly.

Then, she noticed the wound on my arm. “How did you do that?” She asked.

“Sword cut. You were there, you saw it happen,” I told her, scathingly. The arm still throbbed, so I wasn’t impressed with the question.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, “No, not that. Look at it.”

I looked down at my arm, curious. There was still a huge nasty cut, but the blood was no longer seeping from it. Rather, it had scabbed over, looking like it was a day old, rather than 10 minutes old, max.

I could practically see Annabeth's wheels turning in her brain, and could also taste her confusion.

“Step out of the water, Percy.”

“What–“

“Just do it.”

I shrugged, and listened to her, stepping out of the creek. My shoulders sagged slightly, and I felt slightly off, but apart from that, nothing changed.

Annabeth frowned, displeasure on her face.

“What? How could I be wrong about that? Who else could it be?” Annabeth muttered to herself, seemingly forgetting about me.

Before I could question what she was wrong about, I heard that same canine growl from before. But this time, it was far closer. A howl ripped through the forest.

The sound of the campers cheering almost instantly silenced itself, as everyone fell quiet. Chiron shouted something in Ancient Greek, which I would later realise, I had understood perfectly:” Stand ready! My bow!”

Annabeth drew her sword, and I saw other campers get into similar positions.

On the rocks just above us, a black hound the size of a rhino – with lava-red eyes and fangs like daggers – stood.

And it was looking straight at me.

No one moved, petrified, other than Annabeth, who yelled, “Percy, run!”

She attempted to step in front of me, but the hound was faster than her. It leapt right over her – an enormous shadow with teeth, looking like it came straight out of a horror movie – and hit me, causing me to stumble back, its razor-sharp claws tearing threw my armour, as if it was jelly.

At the same time, there was a cascade of thwacking sounds, like forty pieces of paper being ripped right after one another. The hound grew a necklace made of arrows and fell dead by my feet.

Somehow, I was still alive. I didn’t want to look underneath the absolute ruin of my shredded armour. My chest felt warm, but not in a fuzzy way, in a wet way. I knew that I had to have been badly cut. If those arrows hadn’t come right when they did, I would be gone.

Chiron trotted up next to us, his bow still drawn, and his face grim.

"Di immortales!" Annabeth said. "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."

Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory gone.

Clarisse, of course, had to put her two cents in, “it’s all Percy's fault! Percy summoned it!” she screamed.

I looked at her, incredulous. How? What?

Luckily, Chiron seemed to agree, “Be quiet, child.” He scolded.

We all watched solemnly as the hellhound melted into shadow, soaking into the ground until it disappeared.

“You’re wounded,” Annabeth told me. Thanks, I didn’t realise. “get in the water.”

“I’m okay. I don’t need to.”

“Just do it. Chiron, watch. I don’t get it, as I don’t think he’s of the sea.” I frowned at this, but did as she said.

I stepped into the water, and instead of my chest feeling warm and wet, it started to just feel warm. I looked down, and saw that the cut was beginning to scab.

Chiron looked confused as well. “I would’ve smelled Poseidon on him. How?”

Annabeth looked at Chiron in agreement. Having enough, I stepped out of the water, sick of feeling like an animal in the zoo, as everyone gawked at me.

Thankfully, their interest seemed to wane as I stepped out of the water. That was, until someone gasped, and pointed at me. I was confused until I noticed a reddish-pink glow surrounding me. I feel a fabric around my legs and look down to see ivory fabric that went all the way down to my feet.

“What?” I murmur.

“Percy, look up,” Chiron tells me. I did as he said, and saw a dove, surrounded by the same pink glow as the rest of me.

I still didn’t know what was happening. No one was explaining anything, they were just gawking. I also, to my confusion, saw some campers looking flustered, and blushing.

Finally, Chiron spoke again, ‘it is determined.” Chiron announced, folding his front legs and bowing to me. All the campers followed suit, kneeling. Even the Ares cabin, though they didn’t look too impressed.

“Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of Aphrodite, goddess of love.

Oh.

I heard snickers emerge from the crowd, and looked up, glaring. I don’t know why someone was laughing, but I wasn’t impressed.

However, I wasn’t surprised when it was revealed to be Clarisse, “Heh, of course, Prissy is a child of Aphrodite.” I saw a few of Aphrodite's children – my half siblings apparently – stiffen, and glare at Clarisse. Either she didn’t notice, or completely ignored them. “AS if that weakling could be a child of someone as powerful as the Big Three. It makes complete sense.”

I saw a few of the younger children of Aphrodite shrink into themselves, becoming self-conscious. Needless to say, I wasn’t impressed.

“Oh piss off Clarisse. In case you forgot, this weakling broke your oh-so-precious spear.

Clarisse just sneered and turned away.

And so, my life as a child of Aphrodite began.