Chapter Text
Montauk was a village in the innermost reaches of its country. It was neither small nor large; respectable but not noteworthy. Quaint. But everybody knew that something strange was afoot in the mountains and forests that surrounded Montauk, whispers of both friend and foe in the mist that swirled beyond. Strange things often occurred at Montauk. The strangest of all, it is said, was the unfortunate fate of the Mykene Castle and the occupants there within.
This is not their tale however, despite what history may say, but rather His. It is His Story, as much as it is Her Lesson, and Their Fate. A lingering song of hope and sorrow, strength and grief, hubris and love, embodied by the stone statue perfectly preserved in the west wing of Mykene Castle. And it begins, and ends, with Perseus Jackson.
Perseus, ‘please call me Percy’, Jackson moved to Montauk when he was twenty one years of age, and he took Montauk by storm. In the short time he lived there, the people of Montauk concluded two things: he was handsome and he was odd.
The first was indisputable. Percy Jackson was by far the most handsome creature that ever stepped foot inside Montauk. His hair was black as night, and its disheveled nature endeared his admirers despite common prudency. He stood above most of his companions, tall enough that he had to look down to converse with them more often than not, but he did not tower excessively so. A respectable height, many declared. His skin was kissed to perfection by the sun, from a hard life laboring under its unforgiving gaze. The physical life added to his physique, well defined muscles clearly visible through the bare boned threads that wove together to create his worn attire. His smile was a rather lopsided, an aspect his opponents were quick to point out, yet it seemed to add a certain charm to his person. His best feature, however, was not his hair nor his height nor any of the above mentioned delights, but rather his eyes.
His eyes were green as the sea on a stormy night. They shone brightly in his tan face, wide and open to all who gazed upon him. They sparkled when he laughed, darkened when he brooded, ever changing and swirling like the waves out at sea.
Despite his aesthetic appeal, people could not deny the second indisputable fact about their local beauty: Percy Jackson was odd.
He was not very good at, well, anything at all it would seem. He jumped from trade to trade, apprenticeship to apprenticeship, in a never ending search for a steady job. He spent his first few weeks at the baker’s, but his bread refused to rise and he nearly burnt the place down. Next, he tried to assist the local clerk, but he could not learn his letters. The clerk declared him hopeless and Percy was back to searching. He never quit trying, even as he failed time and time again. His last stop was the blacksmith’s. He could not craft the beautiful metal like that of his master, but he could tend to the lesser duties just fine. He would never be a blacksmith though.
His oddities did not end there. The young Mister Jackson had a peculiar ability to...not notice things. After prolonged consideration the people of Montauk came to the conclusion that Percy was neither ignorant nor rude, but rather simply oblivious to social cues. Many fair young ladies would drop hints of courtship only to have their affections misunderstood; or a disgruntled fellow leveled a veiled insult that was mistakenly taken as a compliment. An unfortunate character flaw - one that caused a lot of heartbreak and frustration in the village of Montauk.
Now poor Percy was utterly oblivious to the villagers’ constant scrutiny of his person (another regrettable side effect of his social oddities). No, Percy was only concerned with one thing: his mother, dear Sally Jackson, who had fallen ill. While other men his age were coming into themselves and courting, Percy took his weekly sums home to tend to his sickly mother.
“Ma?” Percy called as he peeked his head around the corner of her room.
“Percy dear,” came the soft reply.
Sally Jackson laid in bed, a blanket tucked securely around her from the night before. Her eyes lacked the brightness and light they held when he was a child, but she refused to let her illness steal her spirit, even as it stole her body.
“I’m off to work,” Percy told her softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to her cool forehead.
“Try not to burn anything down dear,” she teased him lightly.
“I’ll do my best,” Percy promised sheepishly. He honestly had not meant to set the bakery on fire. It just sort of…happened. Like most things in his life.
“Be careful,” she bid him as he ducked out of her room.
“I will,” he promised.
They were too poor for horses or carts or anything like that, so Percy had to start off in the early morning in order to get to work on time. He was just closing the gate behind him when an odious voice stopped him.
“Boy!”
Percy’s eye twitched as he turned to survey the man who called out to him. Standing before him, lumbering unevenly in a rare bout of exertion, was Gabe Ugliano. His mother’s husband. Gabe, in Percy’s humble and modest opinion, was the worst sort of person. He drank to excess, gambled away the money Sally needed for her medication, saw himself as too important (read: lazy) for work, and leeched off of Percy’s hard earned money. Percy hated him. Sally Jackson deserved to be married to a king. Instead she was stuck with this monstrosity.
“Gabe.”
Gabe fixed his beady eyes on his step-son. “You off to work now?”
“Yes, unlike some people,” Percy ground out.
Gabe’s eye twitched as he absently scratched his stomach, obviously trying to figure out if he had been insulted or not. His tiny brain could not seem to draw any conclusion so he ignored Percy’s statement.
“Good,” Gabe grunted, nodding his near bald head, “you need to buy that medicine this week?”
“We need to buy it every week,” Percy reminded him through clenched teeth.
Sally was doing better. She could stand for short periods of time and yesterday, when Percy returned from work, she actually had dinner made. But her strength was fleeting and the medicine was vital to her continued health. So, yes, every week.
“Expensive,” Gabe muttered to himself, turning away.
Percy made a face at his back. Childish perhaps, but effective in boosting his moral all the same. Percy determinedly put his step-father out of his mind as he set down the path to Montauk. The smithy Percy worked at was in the heart of town and he slipped in the back just as the sun began to rise.
Hephaestus was already stroking the fires. Hephaestus was a large man, built to excess with dark skin and a rather surly manner. But he was a fair boss, and oddly kind to Percy despite his demeanor. Kinder than any of his previous employers anyway. Percy nodded his greeting at the talented blacksmith before getting to work. Percy did all the little mundane things, like keeping the fires going, polishing the finished works, while Hephaestus did the heavy lifting.
Work passed peacefully, as it was wont to do at Hephaestus’ smithy. As the day wound down Hephaestus briefly left the shop to run an errand and Percy cheerfully held down the fort.
"Oh, hello Percy. Is the Master Hephaestus out?"
Percy looked up from where he was polishing a sword to find a familiar, although not entirely wanted, figure standing in the doorway. Medusa Gorgon smiled down at him, her teeth bared against her painted lips. It was almost frightening actually. She looked impeccable as always. Her dark hair coiled in tight ringlets around her head, her olive skin smooth and dark eyes gleaming as she flashed that terrifying smile at him. Medusa's father was Baron Gorgon and Medusa walked the streets like she owned them. Which she practically did. One wrong move and she would run home to the baron and that would not end well for anyone.
“Hello Miss Gorgon,” Percy greeted politely. “The master is out.”
“Good. I wanted to speak with you alone,” Medusa declared boldly.
“Oh,” Percy said, surprised. He had no idea why Medusa would want to speak with him alone.
“Yes, I –” Medusa cut off sharply as the smithy door opened and Hephaestus lumbered back in.
“Oh, Miss Medusa,” Hephaestus grunted as he stared at the baron’s daughter in obvious surprise.
Medusa wrinkled her nose primly, eyeing Hephaestus distastefully. Percy felt his hackles rise at her obvious disdain for the blacksmith. There was nothing wrong with Hephaestus. Sure, he was not the handsomest man in the world, and he was crippled, but he was a phenomenal blacksmith and a good person.
“I was just leaving,” she said stiffly, holding herself close against the wall as if she was afraid Hephaestus’ very presences would contaminate her. She caught Percy’s eye and flashed another all teeth smile.
“Meet me later when you get off of work okay? Outside the Ambrosia.”
She did not give Percy a change to respond as she swept out of the room. Hephaestus clapped Percy on the shoulder in sympathy and they got back to work. They closed up for the night when the light became to faint for working conditions. Hephaestus squinted at the sky, at the collection of dark clouds that drifted in as the sun set.
“Bad storm coming,” he grunted. He looked sideways at Percy, stroking his beard as he gruffly asked, “you okay to walk home boy?”
Percy grinned at his concern. This was a side of Hephaestus people never bothered to find. He really was a big softie (emphases on the big).
“I’ll be alright. Apparently I have to stop by the Ambrosia anyway,” Percy sighed. “And I have to pick up Ma’s medicine.”
Hephaestus grunted. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Percy grinned and waved his boss off.
He set down the dirt street, whistling as he went. He stopped to pick up Sally’s medicine and, with his spare change, some hard candies. He sucked on one as he walked down the street, keeping a careful eye out for the little miscreants he knew were running about.
Sure enough he found them, ducking and scurrying on the road ahead. A blonde head peeked out from behind a garbage can and the little face attached to it light up with a smile.
“Mister Percy,” the little boy cried in delight. He darted out from his hiding place, making a beeline for his older friend. Unfortunately for him, he was not the only one who noticed Percy. Medusa stepped onto the street at the same time as the child and he ended up collided with the woman.
“Hey, watch it vermin!” Medusa cried, outraged, kicking out.
“Hey!” Percy protested, jumping forward at the same time another voice, this one shrill and young, cried: “Nobody hits my brother!”
Little Thalia Grace kicked the baron’s daughter with all her seven year old might, causing Medusa to release her brother.
“Why you little – “ Medusa snarled as Percy slipped between her and the children.
"Hey, take it easy,” Percy interjected, holding his arms out in peace. "They're just kids alright? Just kids."
Thalia, and little toe-head Jason, darted behind Percy and hugged his legs tight, eyeing Medusa suspiciously. Percy reached down to run his fingers through Jason's dirty hair.
"Yeah well," Medusa said haughtily, suspiciously eyeing the two children clinging tight to the object of her desire, "It better not happen again!"
"It won’t," Percy soothed, ushering the children away.
"Percy?" Jason asked, his innocent eyes large and round as they sweetly peered up at the man.
"It's okay," Percy assured him, reaching down to check the young boy for any injuries. "She's just cranky. Try not to run into her next time okay buddy? I know you didn't mean too."
"Cow," Thalia sneered, gripping Jason tight with one arm and the other still wound around Percy's leg. Percy patted her on the head as well, not bothering to correct her insult.
"Here, look what I got my two favorite miscreants," Percy said, holding out the candies he brought exactly for this purpose.
"C'ndy" Jason squealed happily, reaching his chubby toddler hands out for the treat. "Fank you."
"Thank you," Thalia corrected as she sucked on her own candy. Her electric eyes glanced up at Percy as she unhappily asked, ”Mister Percy, you're not gonna go back and talk to her are you?"
"I'm afraid so," Percy sighed dramatically, causing both younglings to giggle. "Stay out of trouble okay? And it looks like it's about to storm so get indoors quickly alright?"
The siblings nodded. Thalia took her little brother’s hand and ushered him down the street as Jason twisted around and waved a sticky hand goodbye. Percy waved back, watching them sadly. He wondered if they were going home tonight, then figured he probably did not want to know. He just hoped they got somewhere safe. His heart ached and he wished he could take them home with him, but Percy barely had enough food to feed his own family much less two more hungry children. With a heavy heart, he turned away. And found Medusa waiting for him, tapping her foot impatiently. When she realized she had his attention she made that terrifying smile again and stepped forward.
"You're going to take me to dinner," she told him sweetly.
"What?" Percy could not believe his ears.
"You are going to take me to dinner," Medusa repeated, enunciation each words slowly and carefully as though speaking to a child. Which she was not any good at as she so elegantly demonstrated earlier.
"Why would I want to do that?" Percy demanded, crossing his arms and suspiciously squinting at the baron’s daughter, trying to figure out what her game was.
"Gods, it's a good thing you're pretty," Medusa sighed, clapping her hands together, "Because I want you to court me. You are well respected, caring, kind, all that other nonsense people generally look for in a partner. But more importantly, you're the only man who comes close to being as handsome as me."
Percy just stared at her. Her last words were accompanied with a toss of one of her tightly coiled ringlets and it bounced against her beautiful skin as he found his voice again; "Why on earth would I want to court you? You're selfish, vain, petty - you just kicked a child! Jason, who's like the sweetest and cutest thing ever. You judge people solely based on their appearance. What would make you think I would ever want to court you?"
Medusa looked as though he had slapped her. Their little spat had drawn a crowd and the baron's daughter looked around at the onlookers, shame and humiliation coloring her cheeks.
"Take it back," she hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Apologize, take me by the hand and stop making a scene."
When Percy did not say anything she snarled, "I mean it Jackson. You don't want to cross me."
"Good bye, Miss Gorgon," Percy said simply, ducking around the crowd and hastily making his way into the forest.
Thunder crashed across the sky, a raindrop fell on his shoulder then another and another until a steady drizzle fell from the heavens. Great, just great, Percy though sullenly. As if his day was not bad enough. Who does she think she is? Percy angrily kicked the ground, bossing me around like that. Threatening me. She's the baron's daughter, a voice that sounded altogether too much like his mother's reminded him. He winced. Yeah, he probably could have handled that better. Turned her down easy, made less of a scene.
But she's awful, another part of him protested. She kicked Jason!
It began to rain harder, the icy droplets cutting through his thin clothes and obscuring his vision. He squinted through the almost opaque wall of rain. He thought he heard a noise behind him. He jerked around, his eyes narrowing and flickering through the hardly visible trees.
"Who's there?" Percy called, the wind and rain stealing his voice before it could carry too far. Rain continued to pour, bouncing off treetops and splattering mud against his shins. He thought he saw a dark figure flit through the forest and his eyes tried to track the movement.
"I know you're out there!" He called, but no one answered him.
He kept moving. He was shivering violently, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm. The hairs on the back of his neck constantly had him looking over his shoulder, shouting into the trees sometimes but nobody ever stepped forth. His chest clenched nonetheless; he knew something was out there. The rain came in so thick and hard Percy did not know which way he was heading anymore. In fact, he did not even know where he was.
Something loomed in the distance and Percy squinted, trying to figure it out. His body shook so violently from the cold he could not even walk straight. He stumbled forward until the dark blob started to take form. It was a castle, a towering dark ominous castle complete with menacing gates and points. Everything about it screamed go away. But Percy knew he could not stay out in the elements any longer. He would risk the creepy old castle.
He collapsed against the front gate, rattling the door. To his immense surprise, it fell open with ease and he found himself face first in the mud. Teeth clattering, Percy lifted himself out of the cold mud and limped towards the door. The doors were giant and imposing, dark towering structures complete with brass knockers. Percy was sure the sign probably held an impressive and terrifying warning to any trespassers, but he was too cold and tired to care.
He knocked on the door. The rain continued to pour, a hurricane of sound that drown out all other sounds so Percy could not tell if someone heard him or not.
He knocked again.
"Hello!" He hollered, "Somebody? Please, I'm lost and cold and it's raining. If I could only come in until the storm lets up I'll be most grateful."
A clash of thunder.
"I can fix your fence as payment if you want!" Percy called, desperately wishing someone would open the door.
As he miserably shivered the door opened a crack.
"Hello," Percy called eagerly, "I'm sorry, I won't be a bother I swear! I'll make it up to you."
The door opened all the way and Percy frowned in confused at the empty hall. Squinting into the dark hallway Percy could make out the shape of furniture and the likes, but no person.
“Oh gods, please don’t be haunted,” Percy prayed feverously as he stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him and he jumped despite himself. It was only slightly warmer inside, although it seemed terribly unfair to call it ‘warmer’, less cold felt more accurate. But the wind and rain could not reach him in here; Percy was grateful.
The hallway was dimly lit by a flickering candlestick, short but burning brightly for its minute stature. Great paintings adorned the hall, portraits glaring judgmentally at him, dark foreboding forests and pastures stretching beside them. Percy was afraid to so much as breath on them wrong, they probably cost more than all the revenue of Montauk. As Percy gaped, a whispered hiss reached his ear and he turned around, listening with wide eyes.
“You can’t let him in,” an angry voice hissed.
“Look at the poor boy,” a melodious voice hissed back, thick with an accent Percy never heard before. “He’ll catch his death, he stays.”
“Hello?” Percy called, snatching up the candlestick to hold over his head and illuminate the way. He was alone in the hallway, but he knew he heard voices –
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing getting all handsy like that?”
Percy jumped in surprised at the new voice, this one younger and brasher than the other two. The candlestick in his hand moved, the neck twisting so the fire brushed against his fingers and Percy dropped the entire thing in alarm.
“Ow! Hey, now, that was totally uncalled for you son of – “
“Lee,” a mild voice scolded, which seemed to be emanating from a footstool that miraculously inched forward to nudge against the fallen candlestick, “that’s rude, he’s our guest.”
“He dropped me!” The candlestick objected indignantly.
Percy stared at the arguing furniture in horror, backing up until his back hit the wall. Had the cold and the wet addled his brain? He squeezed his eyes shut tight then reopened them. The candlestick and footstool were still arguing.
“Chiron, Lee, hush, you are frightening him,” the accented voice scolded. A teapot hobbled next to the footstool, her whistle blowing.
“Di immortals,” Percy breathed. He was crazy, he lost it.
“At least this one hasn’t fainted yet,” a champagne glass grumbled as it hopped into view.
“Are you alright dear?” The teapot asked, concerned.
“You’re a teapot,” Percy breathed.
“Yes dear.”
“He’s a candlestick.”
“That you dropped.”
“And a champagne glass,” Percy added faintly.
“Wine glass,” the wine glass hiccupped, obviously offended, “uncultured swine.”
“I need to sit down,” Percy said.
There was a plush, if not slightly musty, armchair in a drawing room next to a roaring fire. The fire was heaven, banishing the cold from the once frigid room and bring warmth back to his fingertips. As he warmed himself, tucked snuggly in the overlarge chair, he kept a wary eye on the gathered crowd before him. A gather crowd that included a candlestick, a richly embroidered footstool and a delicate and intricately designed teapot. Who spoke. Inanimate objects, as sentimental as himself.
“Is this house haunted?” Percy asked hesitantly, unsure how to process this new information.
The wine glass snorted, the rich red liquid inside swirling and sloshing out of his top, “Haunted, hah. Do we look like ghost to you?”
“Are you possessed?” Was Percy’s next question, wary. Devils and demons were not something he was equipped to deal with. He did not want to piss them off either though if they were.
“No, dear, Dionysus leave the boy alone. Lee, apologize for burning him,” the teapot demanded. “Nico, little one, where are you? Our guest needs some tea.”
The wine glass, Dionysus, muttered under his breath but the teapot nudged him out of her way, shuffling over to hop on the arm of Percy’s chair. Percy tried not to flinch. They still had not answered his question.
“Not possessed my dear boy,” the footstool said patiently, “Cursed, but I assure you we neither mean you harm nor will we hurt you.”
“Hmph, Nico! Hush, Chiron, can’t you see the boy is tired and cold? Poor dear, out in the elements for so long. Don’t worry dear, I shall not let any of these fools bother you. Where is Nico? Lee have you apologized yet?”
The candlestick gave an exasperate sigh. “I’m sorry I burned you…although you deserved it.”
“Lee.”
“Curse?” Percy asked, trying to draw the conversation back to something that resembled sanity. Lee seemed to huff, his long neck folding over and bringing the flame dangerously close to Chiron’s fabric back.
“Yes, an enchantress’ curse I’m afraid,” Chiron the footstool said with a well-worn sigh, “We were once human like you. But that is a long story. Just know that it is not contagious, you shall not turn into furniture. You are safe.”
“Nico little one, if you are not out here by time I count to three you will sorely – “
“I’m here Ma, I’m here,” a young voice whined and a little teacup hopped onto the chair next to the teapot. The teacup was styled the same as the teapot, dark and intricate, but there as edge of his rim that was chipped. Percy assumed this was the allusive Nico.
“Ah good. Our guest needs some tea – “
“Maria, I’m not sure – “ Chiron tried to intervene calmly but the teapot ignored him, speaking over the footstool.
“One cube or two my dear?”
“Um,” Percy said uncomfortably as Maria starting pouring tea into the sulking Nico. “I’m ah, I’m good thanks.”
“Nonsense, you will get a cold.” Maria dismissed, using her spout to flick one sugar cube in the tea. Nico hopped over to Percy, who stared awkwardly down at the poor cup.
“I don’t feel particularly comfortable drinking out of someone who’s, ah, real,” Percy said. Nico tilted himself, his handle turning sideways as though he were a human tilting is head.
“You will catch your death, drink.” Maria pressed.
Percy picked up the teacup, but he had no intentions of drinking any tea. He stared at the teacup, who even without a face looked sullen and angry.
“Um, hi,” Percy said awkwardly, “I’m Percy. Percy Jackson.”
“Oh, we never asked for his name how terribly rude of us,” Maria fretted as Nico shifted in Percy’s hand, which was terrible weird and the human almost dropped him. “We never even introduced ourselves. I am Maria, and that adorable teacup you hold is my ten year old son, Nico. The footstool is Chiron, he is the steward of this castle. Dionysus is the wine glass, ignore him.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Percy managed, nodding at the teapot and feeling absolutely nuts. Nothing about this situation felt real, yet here he was having a conversation with household objects as if nothing was wrong.
“He’s warm now,” Dionysus groaned, hiccupping slightly. Percy noticed the level of wine in his, ah, inside himself had lowered. Did he drink the wine? How did that even work?! “He should – hic – should leave. You know she won’t like it if she finds out you invited somebody in.”
“Let me fetch him a coat,” Chiron interrupted calmly as Maria whirled on Dionysus. If a teapot could look furious, she managed it. “And he can be on his way. I should tell you though, my dear boy, it’s been nice talking to a real human.”
“Rush him out this quickly?” Maria asked hotly, “Back into the cold forest? No, he should stay until the light.”
“Maria,” Chiron warned. “You know how the Mistress would feel.”
Maria grumbled.
“I shall get you a coat,” Chiron said.
“Um, thanks,” Percy said as the footstool shuffled away. The teacup turned in his hand, hot tea spilling over Percy’s hand. Percy resisted the urge to flinch, worried about dropping the poor teacup.
“You’re human,” Nico said.
“Last time I checked,” Percy agreed. This day felt so surreal, he would not have even been surprised if he were no longer human.
An awkward silence descended, broken only by the crackling of the fire as they waited. Dionysus’ wine kept disappearing, and his hiccups increased. Maria sat silently by his elbow and Percy put Nico down next to his mother.
“Thanks for ah, being so hospitable,” Percy starting to thank them when the drawing room door slammed opened. Dionysus jumped, the little wine left spilling over the floor. Nico ducked behind Maria, who’s cap clamped down tightly.
A woman walked into the room, standing stiff and proud. Percy could not help but gasp when she stepped into the firelight, the flames illuminating her features. At first glance, she seemed like a normal woman. Her posture was impeccable, ramrod straight and shoulders squared. A dark pair of glasses obscured her eyes and the fire reflected ominously off of them. She was pale, as if her skin had never seen the sun. But where her hair should be, there was not. Instead, writhing and hissing as they coiled around her head, tiny black snakes protruded from her scalp.
The sight was horrifying. Hundreds of little snakes hissed at him, beady little eyes locking onto his in cold reptilian fury. Their black scales stood out starkly against her pale skin and her red lips thinned as her head turned to assess him.
“Who is this,” the woman demanded. Her voice was cold as ice, and cut through Percy worse than the weather. Her snakes hissed angrily.
“Mistress Athena,” Maria’s accent seemed even thicker as she addressed the monstrosity before them. “Please. He is a traveler and was caught in the storm – “
“You let a stranger into my castle,” Athena said, her voice sharper than Hephaestus’ best blade.
“Mistress calm yourself.”
“Who are you, who dares to enter my home?” Athena walked purposely towards Percy, who scrambled to his feet in alarm. “Who sent you? Did you come to gaze upon the beast of Mykene Castle peasant? Come to gawk and stare at the fallen Mistress of Mykene? Montauk’s monster.”
“I – “ Percy stammered, his eyes fixed on the hissing snakes that writhed sickeningly around Athena’s face. “Yes, no! I mean, I don’t know – I’m sorry.”
“Fool.” Athena declared, her harsh voice barking in the enclosed space. “You will regret coming here. None who gaze upon me live, moral, do you understand?”
“Wait – “ Percy panicked, “I didn’t meant to trespass honest! I – I was cold and wet and it was storming. I asked to come in, I didn’t just barge in, I can – “
“Athena, you’re frightening him,” Chiron’s voice scolded as the footstool shuffled back into the room. The snake lady did not move, the constant hiss from her hundred reptilian friends still filled the air. “This is our guest, Percy Jackson.”
Percy was sure there was some significance to Chiron’s overemphasis of the word ‘guest’ but honestly he could not care less at the moment. He inched away from the dangerous snake lady.
“He could be the one,” Maria’s disapprovingly added.
Percy did not like the sound of that. One what? Suddenly, all their hospitality seemed a lot more sinister. And he thought they seemed nice. He wondered if he could make it to the door before any of them could stop him. It would not be that hard to outrun a footstool, but Athena’s snakes made him leery. Were they poisonous?
Athena scoffed, “There is no such thing, di Angelo, must we go over this again? Do you hail from Montauk, Percy Jackson?”
He shuddered as she hissed his name, drawing out the syllables as if they were something unsavory. Percy bristled despite himself. This probably was not the best time to get into a fight, but his brain to mouth filter was nonexistent at best so he snapped back:
“What the hell’s wrong with my name? At least it doesn’t sound like I have a stick up my – “
The snakes hissed, their heads snapping up and coming alarmingly close to his face. His insult cut off sharply as their forked tongues tickled his face.
“I mean – nice to meet you,” Percy hastily corrected himself.
“Athena is an honorable name,” Athena said haughtily, “A name of integrity and academics. I should not expect you to understand that Percy. Perhaps you will have time to think on that in the dungeon tonight.”
“Oh?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow and obviously not having learned his lesson on pissing off the crazy snake lady, “You and what army? A drunked wine glass and a footstool?”
As if to prove his point, Dionysus gave a rather drunken hiccup, his entire glass body trembling and Percy almost feared he would fall over and shatter himself. He leaned against Lee, and if a candlestick could looked pained this one did.
Athena’s face darkened, which cast eerie shadows over her pale face and created the rather disturbing image not unlike a demon. A dark and pale demon, framed by the black hissing snakes and their pink forked tongues and yeah maybe Percy was a little afraid.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with Percy Jackson,” Athena hissed, her mouth making a sound terrifyingly similar to that of the serpents coiling sinisterly around her face. “You have no idea how close to death you are. Do you see me, man of Montauk? Do you know upon whom you gaze?”
“Um,” was all that came out of Percy’s mouth but Athena pulled away, so her snakes no longer threatened his face.
“You cannot leave this castle,” Athena declared. “You can try, but the doors shall not open for you, Percy Jackson. Think of it as a lesson. I shall teach you how to respect your betters, humility shall be engrained in you and your stupidity driven out.”
“You can’t do that!” Percy objected, horrified, the slight on his person dismissed (honestly, it was not like he had not heard all of it before). “I can’t stay here!”
Athena no longer listened however. She swept out of the room as quickly and ominously as she came, the swish of her dark ropes almost extinguishing Lee’s flame.
“I can’t stay here!” Percy cried again in the silence of the too still room. Nobody answered him. The teacup shuffled closer to his mother, the wine glass dipping low, the candlestick even seemed to avoid his desperate gaze.
“I can’t stay here,” was the mantra on Percy’s lips as he dashed from the room.
“Please, Percy wait!” Chiron called after him, but Percy was beyond listening. He bounded down the hall to the large front doors, grasping the cold golden handle in his callous hands and tugged. Nothing. He tugged again, desperately, but the door did not budge.
“No, no, no,” Percy despaired, pulling and pounding on the door in fury and panic. He was dimly aware of a growing audience, the eclectic group of cursed objects, watching without eyes as he raged against the unrelenting wood.
“I can’t – I won’t – I have to,” Percy gasped, lashing out at the door until his knuckles were torn and blood ran freely down his arm.
“Percy,” a timid voice asked as his hysteria faded and his strength waned.
“Percy,” the melodious and motherly Maria called softly. His knees trembled and he sank onto the cold floor, shaking his head.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he repeated. “I have to go home. I can’t stay here.”
What was he going to do? He had medicine his mom needed. What would she do when he did not return? Would Gabe go into town to fetch more? How would he pay for it without the wages that burned against Percy’s side?
“My mom is sick,” he begged, unsure who he was addressing. “She needs me. I cannot stay here. Please. I’m all she’s got.”
Maria gently tapped him with the end of her smooth, delicate spout. “You cannot leave my dear.” She told him, her deep, accented voice echoing damningly in the hollow space, “I am sorry. But you cannot leave.”