Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Grover first caught a whiff of Mr. Jackson’s scent, he knew something was up.

Sure, the man looked normal enough from Grover’s brief glimpse of him through the windshield as Mrs. Jackson’s Toyota Prius trundled up the long driveway. He had sunburnt shoulders and was still wearing a pair of bright yellow bib-and-brace oilskins, like he’d just come back from his job on the fishing trawler.

He fit in perfectly with the rest of what Grover realised must be Percy’s family home. And wow, way to go Percy. Grover hadn’t expected a beautiful blue wooden structure that looked like it had come out of the fjords of Norway, backed onto the ocean with its own dock and private stretch of beach so close to New York.

But once the car got close and Grover caught Mr. Jackson’s scent, all of Grover’s fur stood on end.

Because beyond the sweat, salt, and dead fish he could pick up, there was a strangely synthetic human smell. It was sort of like how Fanta smelt like oranges. Which was to say - and a sharp stab of anxiety wormed its way into Grover’s heart at the thought - Mr. Jackson smelt like he was a fake human. Was Mr. Jackson a monster in disguise?

Without thinking, Grover took the aluminium can end he’d been saving out of his pocket and started crunching it between his teeth to sooth himself. He tried to slot every aspect of the man’s scent against the monsters drilled into him from his searcher training as a kid. He came up with a blank. They’d only been trained on the normal, low-level monsters. Nothing in those lessons prepared him for something that could mask itself so completely that even its scent was erased.

If they ever encountered something that used magic like this, they were supposed to just avoid, avoid, avoid. And that was all Grover wanted to do. He wanted to bolt out the car and keep running.

Grover barely noticed as the car eased to a stop, or Mrs. Jackson slipping out to open the trunk for their bags, quietly so as not to disturb the dozing Percy beside him.

Okay, Grover told himself, the important thing was not to panic.

As if hearing Annabeth’s voice in his head, Grover assessed the man from the car window to see if he could pick up anything from the way he acted. It was clear that Mr. Jackson was at least trying to act like a mortal father, taking the school bags from Mrs. Jackson, hefting them easily onto his back, and giving Percy’s mom a quick kiss on the lips.

But when Mrs. Jackson grabbed the man’s arm before he could disappear into the house and quietly said something into his ear, so soft that Grover couldn’t make it out despite his heightened senses, the look that Mr. Jackson gave the car made Grover’s hackles rise. It was not a nice look. Grover swallowed the aluminium can top.

If things get bad, Grover thought, I contact Chiron.

Grover got himself together just in time for Mrs. Jackson to poke her head through the open car door. She winked at Grover before turning to her son, gently squeezing his knee.

Percy shot up with a gasp, looking around in surprise.

Grover let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. While Percy was untrained and wouldn’t be able to do much if it came down to a fight, just the thought of his friend being with him made him suddenly feel a little safer.

“We’re here? Dude,” Percy said, shoving Grover’s shoulder, “you should have woken me up!”

“I told him not to,” Mrs. Jackson said, “Percy, you clearly needed your sleep, what with that Nintendo DS I found under your pillow this morning. What’s that about, hmm?”

Percy mumbled a promise that he wouldn’t do it again, though Grover could feel Percy’s emotions were anything but reproachful. He would definitely do it again.

Mrs. Jackson beckoned them towards the house. Grover tried not to stumble as he clambered out of the car and trailed her up the porch steps. It was such an unusually hot January, and his fake feet were so stuffy that they kept getting slippery with sweat against his hooves. The nerves weren’t helping either. For once, he was grateful for the stabilising presence of his fake crutches.

“What did you even talk to my mom about for an hour?” Percy asked him.

“Just that summer camp I keep telling you about,” Grover said, dropping his voice in case Mr. Jackson’s ears were sharper than they should be. Even bringing up camp was close to outing himself as a satyr keeper.

“And was she interested?”

“Kinda?”

Mrs. Jackson held the front door wide and the synthetic mortal scent spilled out the door like a flood. The smell was so strong that it made Grover’s eyes prickle. Styx, the monster must have been dwelling in this house for months or even years to make the scent that strong.

He realised he’d slowed his walking speed when he got to the doorway. He really didn’t want to go into the house. He really, really didn’t want to spend a night under the same roof as a monster. But he couldn’t fail another task, Grover thought, and looked back at Percy who was practically vibrating with excitement at their upcoming sleepover, he was so innocent to the world he lived in. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t let another friend die.

Grover stepped through the open doorway.

~~~

The Jackson house didn’t look like a monster’s lair.

It was bright and homely and almost put Grover at ease. An ordinary shoe rack overflowed with muddy boots and trainers right at the entrance and, further back on the other side of the hallway, a small shelf was crowded with framed photos of Percy and his parents, jars of shells, and netting-wrapped glass floats. On one wall, a painted school of fish swam past in a kaleidoscope of colours. One rogue fish had a distinctly sock-like shape. Grover stared at it for a moment, that one was probably Percy’s.

All in all, this house felt like it had seen a lot of love. Something in Grover’s chest gave a sharp pang. He knew so many demigods who would give anything to have an upbringing that looked like this.

The anxiety returned in full force when Percy bent down to untie his shoes. Grover glanced down at his fake feet, the shoes the only thing standing between his hooves and discovery. His heart thudded.

“Uh, Mrs. Jackson,” he said, fighting down a nervous bleat, “would it be alright if I kept my shoes on please? They sort of help with my,” he gestured weakly with a crutch towards his feet, “condition.”

Mrs. Jackson met his eyes, and for a heartbeat it felt like she saw straight through him. Grover flinched at the slither of suspicion he could feel from her. After a long pause, she smiled warmly. “Of course.”

Grover fiddled with the strap on his crutch. He wanted her to be an ally so badly. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to extract Percy from under the nose of a monster and his mortal parent. He would effectively be kidnapping a kid. But he’d need to do something. Percy’s smell was already far too strong.

Mr. Jackson appeared in the hallway, fishing clothes gone. Grover’s stomach sank as Mrs. Jackson’s wariness melted into feelings of so much relief and love. Maybe Grover wouldn’t get an ally after all.

“Dad!” Percy exclaimed, running into Mr. Jackson’s open arms.

The man certainly acted like a regular father figure as he greeted Percy and asked how his day at school went. His sun-worn, smile-lined face, and swept-back hair made him appear friendly and unthreatening. If Grover hadn’t realised that his mortal scent was fake, he would have been completely at ease. The man also, Grover thought, looked suspiciously like Percy.

Mr. Jackson turned to Grover. “And you must be Grover! I feel like I need to thank you for all the trouble you’ve kept Percy from at school!” He boomed, extending a hand.

Grover took it, the man’s grip rough against his clammy palm. As he offered his usual polite greeting, Grover reached out with his senses. On the surface, the man seemed warm and exuded all the curiosity and friendliness you’d expect from meeting your son’s friend for the first time. But there, just at the edge of the warm cloud of feelings, lurked a shadow. The coiled, stifled trace of anger.

Grover gulped. Mr. Jackson was not happy Grover was here. He was not happy at all.

~~~

Grover’s hooves itched to be free of his sneakers. Every breath felt thick, like the walls of Percy’s bedroom were squeezing tighter with each second. He stared at the comic-book in front of him but couldn’t make heads or tales of the vivid panels, the words blurred as his pulse filled his ears. He had no idea what to do. He couldn’t even think properly. How could he work out what Mr. Jackson wanted and keep his mortal disguise? Why was he such a useless satyr?

Earlier, he’d tried to snoop in the living room. The instant he tugged open a drawer in the coffee table, Mr. Jackson had all but materialised out of thin air, lowering himself onto the opposite sofa with a paperback in hand, his gaze locked onto Grover. He’d raised his eyebrows as if to say he knew precisely what Grover had been up to and would tolerate it only once. Grover had all but scarpered up to Percy’s bedroom and hadn’t come out since.

Why was he always so unlucky on his keeper tasks, Grover thought in despair. He’d been so excited for his first proper sleepover as well. Now all he wanted to do was get Percy out, go home, and maybe stress eat like a dozen enchiladas.

“You okay, Grover?” Percy asked, closing the book and giving him his full attention.

Styx. And now Percy had realised he was acting weird. Grover’s brain scrambled for an excuse; Percy’s face was growing more concerned by the second. “I uh- I forgot my toothbrush.”

“That’s chill,” Percy said. “There’s a CVS just around the corner. Dad can probably drive us.”

It was only round the corner? Grover felt a spark of hope as an idea began to take shape.

“Could we walk there? I don’t want to bother your dad.” Maybe Grover could get a second alone and risk an Iris call to camp without the risk of being overheard. This wasn’t giving up on his task, of course. All he’d do was ask Chiron if he knew what Mr. Jackson could be, and what Grover could do in this situation.

Percy’s eyebrows tightened into a frown, and Grover was taken aback at the sudden swell of emotions from his friend – longing and defiance, threaded with the slightest amount of a growing resentment. Grover didn’t understand, were the feelings directed at him or what he said?

Percy seemed to shake off whatever dark cloud was hanging over him, and his expression brightened. “Sure,” he said, “let’s ask my mom.”

Grover grabbed his crutches and followed Percy out of the bedroom, sticking as close as he dared to Percy. He’d much rather run into Mr. Jackson with Percy with him. Descending the stairs, he winced at how the stains on his sneakers contrasted heavily against the plush white carpets. This entire house sang of wealth. The money must come from Mrs. Jackson’s book deals, he couldn’t imagine that fishing was a very lucrative career and it’s not like monsters cared about money.

Percy led him past a pair of panelled glass doors, into a room that smelt strongly of oak. Mrs. Jackson sat at a wooden desk propped up against the back of the room, face illuminated by her computer screen as she typed away.

Grover’s attention was drawn to the weird crackle of emotions that radiated from Percy. Stubbornness. The exact same feelings Percy would get when he was about to land himself in detention. Styx. What was Percy going to do? Grover hung back, trying not to draw attention to himself. He really didn’t want to get involved in any arguments. 

“Mom, we’re just gonna go walk to CVS, Grover forgot his toothbrush, we’ll be back in time for dinner,” Percy said, barely stopping to take a breath.

Mrs. Jackson sighed and swivelled to face them. Grover was struck by the intensity of conflicting emotions that radiated from her. There was resignation and - was that the slightest bit of regret about something? Something must be going on between Percy and his mom.

“Percy, you know that -”

 “It’ll only be a few minutes!” Percy cut across quickly, “We’ll be super safe and make sure to wait for the traffic lights and all that good stuff.”

Mrs. Jackson glanced at the glass panelled doors with a tired expression, as if they’d had this sort of conversation many times before. “Ask your Dad.”

Percy deflated. “Come on, Mom,” Percy said, eyes wide and pleading, “I’ll be with Grover.”

“If your Dad gives you permission, sure.”

“Ugh,” Percy said, waves of frustration rolling off him, “fine. Come on, Grover.”

~~~

“No.”

“Listen Dad, it’d be so much easier for everyone and I’ll have Grover with me so really it would be -” 

“I said no, Percy.”

The man was stood over a pot, spatula in hand, wearing an apron with smiling, yellow pineapples printed all over it which should make him look like the furthest thing from a monster. But Grover thought that it just made him appear scarier, especially when paired with his stern expression and the way his arms flexed as he folded them.

In the background, some upbeat orchestral march with lots of drums and trumpets played, making Grover feel like they were about to march to war. 

Percy’s chin jutted out as he stared down his dad. “Why?”

Mr. Jackson closed his eyes. “There’s a bunch of busy roads you’ll have to cross, I’d feel so much safer if you let me drive you.”

“I’m not a baby. I know how to cross a road!”

“I know you’re not a baby, Percy. I was actually thinking of your friend.”

Grover frowned. There was something going on and Grover didn’t have enough of the pieces to work it out. The being was oozing fake sincerity. Why would a monster care about Percy walking to CVS? Grover tried to get a handle on his breathing and stepped in quickly. “I’m honestly fine with walking to CVS, Mr. Jackson. It’s really no problem.”

Mr. Jackson’s eyes flicked to him, for a second, before settling back on a glaring Percy.

Just at the point where Grover was beginning to get overwhelmed by the thick tension in the air, Percy rolled his eyes and huffed, breaking the standoff. “Fine. Thanks Dad. I was only trying to be helpful.”

“And I appreciate that,” Mr. Jackson said. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll get you boys to the shops. Maybe we can get you a snack for your movie later?”

Percy perked up at that and gave his stepdad a genuine smile. Grover stared at the ground in horror. This was going even worse than he’d feared.

~~~

There was a cyclops sitting outside CVS.

The cyclops was slouched against the brick wall, hair hanging in greasy strands, stained grey sweatpants rolled up at the ankles, and thick fingers working a strip of cigarette paper, acting like a stereotypical homeless person. But – and Grover shuddered as he thought of the last time he’d seen a cyclops – this was way too unlucky to be a coincidence. This must be an omen sent to him by the fates.

The wind changed direction and the cyclops stilled, the packet of tobacco dropping from his hand. Grover watched, frozen, as the cyclops nostrils flared and he tilted his head towards them, as if sniffing the air like a dog on a hunt. His single eye locked unerringly onto Grover.

Oh gods. This was so not good.

Grover’s hand twitched toward the reeds in his back pocket. He knew only one combat song. The one that put monsters to sleep.

Before he could move, the heat of a body came up behind him. The accompanying odour of synthetic mortal clung to him like blanket. He tensed as a large hand thumped his shoulder.

“Right,” Mr. Jackson said just behind his ear, in a voice that felt far too loud, “let’s go get you that toothbrush.”

When Grover turned his attention back on the cyclops, the monster was looking back at his cigarette, as if nothing had happened.

The trio walked across the parking lot. Grover stayed quiet, keeping a wary eye on the cyclops while Mr. Jackson and Percy negotiated over whether or not they could get both candy and chips for a movie snack. Percy, of course, was very much team both.

“Got any change, sir?” The cyclops called out when they were within earshot.

Grover kept walking until he realised that both Percy and Mr. Jackson had stopped. He looked back and was horrified to see that Mr. Jackson had a leather wallet open in his hands. The man pulled a green note free and pressed it into the cyclops’s palm.

“I hope this finds you some water and somewhere safe to sleep tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the cyclops said.

With that, they entered the shop to a blast of cold AC.

Grover was flabbergasted. Why had Mr. Jackson given the cyclops money? Surely, the being knew he was a cyclops with his ability to so artfully craft his scent. Was the cyclops part of Mr. Jackson’s scheme? He really needed to contact Chiron.

As they debated over the toothbrush, Grover weighed the chances of sneaking in an Iris call from the CVS restroom without being noticed. By the time they reached the snack aisle - Percy in full debate mode, demanding that they get two bags of candy and two bags of chips because it’s his first ever sleepover - Grover finally decided that it would look too suspicious. He’d best wait until it was nighttime when everyone was asleep.

Mr. Jackson would have to sleep too… right?

They made their way over to the checkout and Mr. Jackson put the toothbrush on the counter, along with two bags of chips and two bags of candy. Percy looked on smugly.

“Wait, Mr. Jackson, I got this,” Grover said, panicked. He hastily pulled out some crumpled dollar bills from his pocket, juggling his crutches, and tried to hand the money to the woman behind the counter.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grover,” Mr. Jackson said, smoothly pushing his arm away and moving to stand in front of him.

Grover wanted to protest further, he really didn’t want to owe any monsters any favors. But also, he wanted to act like a normal friend on a normal sleepover with his normal friend’s totally normal stepdad.

As if Percy could sense Grover’s internal debate, he turned to face him and shook his head. “It’s just a toothbrush, Grover. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s chill.”

~~~

Grover lasted until dinner before he messed up.

The atmosphere was already dark and oppressing. Through the dining room window, purple-grey clouds hung heavy in the sky. They kept flashing up with lightning, despite the lack of rain. It was like the gods were angry. Mr. Jackson flinched as a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the house. Fear – not just his own - itched across Grover’s skin.

That was probably why he started babbling.

He wasn’t even aware of what he was saying, he was just trying to be polite. He complimented Mr. Jackson’s cooking. Told Mrs. Jackson how much he loved the house. It was only when he said something about Percy having such a great bond with his stepdad that he became aware of all three of the Jackson’s incredulous eyes on him. He trailed off mid-sentence.

“What the hell, dude?” Percy said, looking at Grover with a horrified expression.

Mr. Jackson put his spoon down, steepled his hands together, and leant forward, focusing his entire attention on Grover. “Now where exactly did you get the idea that I was his stepdad, Grover?”

Grover’s stomach flipped. Mr. Jackson’s eyes looked black in the shadows of the room, and they were fixed, unblinkingly on Grover.

Styx.

Styx. Styx. Styx. His brain scrambled with an excuse to explain the incredible slip. His eyes fell on the photo hanging on the wall behind Mr. Jackson and he let out a shaky breath.

“I saw the picture of Percy at your wedding and assumed…” He let himself trail off.

Mr. Jackson shared a look with Mrs. Jackson, then turned his attention back on Grover. His voice was calm. “Well, you are mistaken, Grover. I am Percy’s real father.”

Mr. Jackson seemed to give him a significant look, but Grover didn’t understand what he should be reading in the man’s dark eyes. All he could focus on was the man’s emotional aura. It was a writhing cloud of dark, almost menacing energy. As if to say, watch where you tread now or I will end you.

Grover gulped. He’d contact Chiron as soon as possible.

~~~

The moment Percy drifted off to sleep, Grover slipped out of bed.

He moved carefully across the room; luckily, the pull-out was close to the door, so he didn’t have too far to go. The door creaked as he eased it open, and Grover winced. He glanced back, heart in his throat, but Percy hadn’t stirred. He slipped into the hallway and pulled the door shut with the faintest click.

The hallway beyond was dark. The only light came from a streetlamp outside, filtered through gauzy curtains, casting faint lines across the carpet like prison bars. Everything was still and the only sound Grover could hear was the faint ticking of a clock and his own heartbeat. Cold sweat ran down his back, but he forced himself forward, each step careful, resisting the instinct to break into a run.

At last, he reached the bathroom and slipped inside, locking the door behind him.

He surveyed the room before making his way over to the shower. The showerhead had a “mist” option. Thank Pan. He turned it on, and hot water sprayed across the tiles. It wasn’t long until steam billowed up, curling against the lightbulb in the ceiling, forming a rainbow.

He finally, finally felt like he could breathe.

He pulled the drachma from his pocket and held it up.

“O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please accept my offering,” he whispered, tossing the drachma at the rainbow, “show me Chiron at Camp Half-Blood.”

The drachma went straight through the steam, bounced off the tiled walls behind, and clanked loudly against the shower floor, innocently rolling to a stop by Grover’s shoe.  

The call hadn’t gone through. Why hadn’t it gone through? That had never happened before.

Grover tried again but the coin rolled back to his feet.

Then he tried again. And again. And again. But still, nothing happened.

Cold sweat trickled down his spine. Was Mr. Jackson powerful enough at magic to block even the gods?

A floorboard creaked just outside the bathroom door.

Grover’s heart thudded. He crept over to the door as quietly as he could, clasped the doorknob with one hand, and slowly and carefully twisted it. He held his breath, listening to hear if he could hear any more noises, before flinging the door open.

The hallway beyond was empty.

~~~

By morning, Grover was packed and ready before Percy had even changed out of his pyjamas. He just wanted to get out of the house and to report everything that had happened to Chiron as soon as possible, before the dread that had taken root in his chest could grow any deeper.

Before Grover even got a chance to follow Percy into the kitchen for breakfast, he felt the prickle of awareness and that cloying synthetic mortal scent.

“Good morning, Grover.”

The voice came from behind him. Grover spun before he even thought about it, unwilling to leave his back exposed, and there he was - Mr. Jackson, fully dressed, leaning against the living room doorway, car keys dangling from his finger.

“Are you all packed and ready to head home?”

Grover’s stomach twisted hard, as if trying to crawl inside itself. So this was it then. The game was over. This was where Mr. Jackson dropped his mask, revealed his evil plot, and killed him.

“Oh - I don’t want to trouble you. I can get the bus.” The words left his mouth without conviction, because they both knew he didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to keep Percy safe and protected by the mist.

“It’s no trouble.” Mr. Jackson’s mouth tugged into a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, “Ready?”

Grover swallowed and forced out some semblance of a polite response. “Y-yes, sir.”

He trailed after Mr. Jackson through the doorway, every step heavier than the last, telling himself that if he vanished today - if this was the end - someone at camp would come looking. They would find Percy before it was too late.

~~~

The drive to camp was quiet.

Mr. Jackson drove, one hand resting loose on the wheel, the other occasionally adjusting the mirror.

“Grover, I just realised you haven’t had breakfast yet,” Mr. Jackson said, finally breaking the silence after what must have been half an hour of traffic.

“I’m okay,” Grover replied quickly. He eyed the door handle. Would he survive jumping out of the car at this speed?

“I’d feel like such a bad host if I returned you home without at least getting you something to eat,” Mr. Jackson said, reclining in his seat, “there’s a nice little restaurant just off this junction here.”

Grover caught the flash of a road sign - EXIT 49: SCENIC MARINA - and before he could say another word, Mr. Jackson flicked the indicator, checked his mirrors, and veered off the highway like he’d made the decision ages ago.

Grover thought of his reed pipes in the front pocket of his backpack lying forlornly between his fake feet. He could unzip the bag and have them in his hands in maybe two seconds. Was that faster than Mr. Jackson could reach a weapon?

The road narrowed, curling alongside a marina canal - water hemmed in by wooden jetties, boats bobbing quietly.

A car park emerged at the end of the strip, jutting out over the water like someone had taken a slab of concrete and slapped it on top of the ocean. Mr. Jackson pulled in, rolling to a stop at the furthest space from the restaurant. The one closest to the sea.

Grover’s mouth went dry. There was no kerb or railing. It was just a few old bulkheads between them and the ocean. With only one twitch of Mr. Jackson’s foot on the accelerator, they’d be over and into the sea.

Mr. Jackson’s arm flexed over the gear stick as he shifted into neutral. He looked at the sky for a second as if searching for something and sighed. His other hand reached for his black pearl necklace, fiddled with it for a second, before pulling it off from his head in one fell swoop.

Grover reached for his seatbelt, fingers brushing the buckle -

“Just a moment, Grover.”

He froze. His hand hovered uselessly. He didn’t dare breathe or meet Mr. Jackson’s eyes.

“When something threatens my family,” Mr. Jackson said, voice low and tired, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say, “I’m not exactly known for my kindness.”

Something pulled at Grover - like a current inside his skull, dragging his gaze up to meet Mr. Jackson’s. The man’s eyes were dark and churning. The air itself was charged, buzzing with a weird energy. He’d felt this before, Grover knew he’d felt this before. It was itching at him in the back of his head.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Mr. Jackson continued, his voice harder now, “when I said I was Percy’s father.”

And it clicked. Grover had felt this before. Grover’s heart dropped like a stone. Dionysus had the same effect when he was angry. This was no monster.

And there was only one god who’d been missing for the last decade.

Oh Styx, this was not good.

The god - Poseidon, for it could only be Poseidon - nodded in acknowledgement.

All of Grover’s nerves exploded at once. He forced himself to speak, forced the words through a throat that had gone stiff and dry.  “M-my lord-” he choked, “I would not bring harm to Percy. I swear it. I would never endanger your family. I swear it on the river Styx.”

Thunder cracked overhead despite the clear blue sky.

The god watched him a moment longer. And then, just like that, the angry buzzing stopped and the pressure lifted. Grover’s mind cleared and, beyond the window, the ocean seemed to let out a breath.

Poseidon smiled. “Good,” he said. He put the pearl necklace back on and unlocked the car doors.

“Let’s get some grub.”

Chapter Text

Percy could do nothing but grin as he rattled down the concrete bank on his skateboard. He welcomed the cold rush of wind blowing in his face, blasting away the sticky heat clinging to his skin as he got faster and faster.

His dad trusted him. His dad had actually trusted him enough to leave him at the skatepark on his own. He felt like he could do anything. He eyed the fast approaching ascent on the other side of the quarter pipe. Could he do it? Could he land that Rainbow Carve?

And then he was pumping up and off the ramp, knees tucked to his chest – and the board was still under his feet, awesome – as he twisted his body. He braced, hoping he wouldn’t mess it up this time. His knees bent as he landed on the board, wheels smacking down onto the concrete curve.  

And he was still upright.

Percy stared down at his feet still on the board in wonder as it descended back down the bank, hardly believing it. He laughed. He’d actually done it. He’d finally landed a rainbow carve.

Percy glanced up at the railings that surrounded the park where people tended to gather, searching for that older kid who’d mocked him earlier for being too young to skate here. He’d show him. He’d just landed a rainbow carve when that kid couldn’t even manage an ollie. 

Percy spotted the horrible mohawk fade and fake Adidas sneakers easily enough, but the teenager wasn’t looking at Percy. He was whispering something to one of his lackeys, pointing at something.

Percy followed the direction of the kid’s finger, and his stomach dropped. For God’s sake.

Because there - towering a head over everyone else, wearing a blue linen shirt and pressed white slacks and looking completely out of place among the skinny teenagers in graphic T-shirts and baseball caps - was his dad. He was beaming down at Percy, completely oblivious to the whispers and wary glances of the kids on either side of him.

His dad hadn’t trusted him after all. 

Percy grit his teeth, scooped up his board, and tucked it under his arm as he strode up and over the ramp with set shoulders. He ducked under the railing, came to stand before his dad, and fixed him with his best unimpressed look.

“I thought you were going to stay in the car?” Percy said, as he dropped his skateboard and crossed his arms. The board hit the ground with a too loud thud and everything went quiet except for the sound of rolling skateboards behind him.

His dad seemed entirely unbothered by his glare and raised his eyebrows.

“Can a father not take a moment to be proud of his son? That was very well done, Percy.”

He reached out to ruffle Percy’s hair like he was just some troublesome five-year-old having a tantrum. Percy jerked away from his dad’s hand, scowling hard. He could feel the stares of the other kids at the railing burning into him. His face heated. Not only would the whole park think he was a baby who still needed his parents to watch over everything he did, they’d also think he was being unreasonable for getting mad at his dad.

“You broke your promise.” Percy said, glaring. Because he wasn’t being unreasonable, he wasn’t. His dad had promised he’d wait in the car. And it hadn’t even been ten minutes since he’d left Percy at the park. 

His dad winced, breaking eye contact as he looked out towards the grey concrete decks, half-pipes, and bowls cast in shadow, which kids were still busy skating back and forth. “You’re right,” his dad admitted quietly, “I did.”

Percy continued glaring at his dad.

His dad sighed and ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, mussing up some of it so it stuck out weirdly from the shape the hair clay had given it. “I don’t suppose I can make it up to you with some ice cream?”

The sun had been beating down on them all afternoon, and Percy was hungry, but he didn’t want his dad to think that he could just buy Percy’s forgiveness with food after he'd broken a promise. So, he shrugged, like he wasn’t that bothered, even though he really did want some ice cream.

His dad’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as if Percy's rightful anger was just something to be amused at - which only made Percy’s skin prickle even more with annoyance. He took Percy’s skateboard, slinging it up and over his shoulder, and headed off down the path towards the parking lot, where an ice-cream van was usually parked.  

~~~

They walked together in silence. The only noise was the ice-cream van’s jingle, which grew louder as the truck came into view. Percy’s knee guards rubbed against his skin, and the heat pressed down like a blanket, and the asphalt stank of old urine and petrol, and what was it about Percy that made his dad think he couldn’t do anything on his own?

Percy kicked a rock off the path and watched it clatter into a bush, cutting off a cicada mid-buzz.

Sure, Percy knew that his ADHD meant he wasn’t always reliable. Percy knew that his sense of timing was so bad that he was always still brushing his teeth when they were supposed to be on their way to school. Percy knew that he kept getting put into detention for stupid stuff. But if his dad could just let Percy prove that he could be back at the car by 5 pm, Percy would show him that he could be reliable. Percy knew he could be trusted. He just knew it. 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him short. His dad turned him gently to face him. He tried to shrug off his dad’s hand, but it stayed there on his shoulder, sturdy and warm.

“What’s wrong, Percy? Is it just because I broke a promise? Or is there something else going on?”

Percy didn’t know how to put all his anger into words. He was angry that his dad had broken his promise, yeah, but he was also angry that his dad didn't think he could handle anything. He used his foot to knock off a bit of a termite hill that had encroached on the sidewalk, watching as the ants swarmed out of the dirt.

“Why don’t you trust me?” He asked finally, glancing up. 

Something flickered across his dad’s face, like he was in pain. He crouched so they were eye to eye. This close, and in the harsh daylight, Percy could see every line of blue, green, and gold, threaded across his dad’s irises.

“I do trust you, Percy,” his dad said, squeezing his shoulder, “look at how smart, brave and strong you are. Please don’t think that I didn’t notice how advanced that move was you did today at the skatepark. How much bravery that took.”

Despite himself, a flicker of pride warmed Percy’s chest. He’d been really proud of that Rainbow Carve.

“It’s just other people I don’t trust,” his dad continued, his gaze drifting to the sky, where grey clouds hung heavy on the horizon.

Okay? Sure, some of the older kids could be a bit mean. But, it’s not like Percy couldn’t handle a bunch of teenagers. Who exactly was his dad worried about? A thought struck him, sparked by something he’d seen on the news a couple of days ago. “Is it because you’re British?”

His dad frowned, looking back at Percy. “Pardon?”

“Because you’re not used to guns?” Percy clarified, remembering to give context.

His dad barked a laugh, and he ruffled Percy’s hair before Percy had a chance to duck away. Percy frowned. It wasn’t supposed to be a joke. He just wanted a reason for his dad's behaviour that wasn't something to do with how Percy sometimes messed up.

His dad started to straighten up, then froze, eyes locked on something behind Percy’s head. His grip on Percy’s shoulder tightened, and his fingers dug into his muscle. It hurt.

Percy tried to twist around to see what his dad was looking at, but his dad’s grip was iron-tight, keeping him in place and facing away from whatever it was.

”Dad?”

His dad didn’t respond. So, Percy watched as his dad’s face drained of colour. What had his dad so scared?

At long last, his dad let him go.

Percy turned around immediately to see what his dad had been looking at. But there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. There was just the usual blueberry and ninebark bushes that lined the path leading from the skatepark to the parking lot.

There were also three old ladies sitting on a bench, knitting what looked like a giant sock. The old ladies hardly seemed frightening. That couldn’t be what his dad had seen, could it?

Percy blinked, and the three old ladies were gone, as if they’d never been there. He gave his head a shake. Was he imagining things now?

His dad muttered something under his breath, too quiet for Percy to catch, and he started walking towards the ice-cream truck with a renewed determination. Percy jogged to catch up.

“Dad, you have to trust that I know what to do if there is an active shooter,” Percy said, not wanting to let the topic go.

His dad spared him a wary glance, before scanning the queue at the ice-cream van. “I hope they still have some vanilla whip, and it’s not just those demon-looking Spongebob Squarepants left like last time,” his dad said, his voice a little too light.   

“And active shooters are actually super rare anyway,” Percy continued, “we learnt about it in school. So, next time you can just wait in the car and –”

“Perseus.”

Percy froze. His dad only used his full name when he was in trouble. He looked up, and his dad’s eyebrows were raised in warning.

“We can discuss this at another time,” he said.

Which, in other words, meant his dad didn’t want to discuss it again at all. Percy tightened his hand into a fist and scowled. Like hell they wouldn’t discuss it again. He’d have to get his mom involved.

~~~

They finally arrived home and Percy decided he would confront his dad over dinner.

His mom’s voice drifted from the back of the house, calling them over. The yellow-orange grass in the yard crunched under his sneakers as he stomped his way around to the back. The drought had been so bad over the last few months that the Homeowners’ Association hadn’t once bothered to complain about the state of their lawn. Not that his parents ever cared about their complaints, having painted their fences neon blue just because they’d been told not to.  

Percy found his mom out on the deck, sitting at a candle-lit table spread. She’d obviously put a lot of effort into it. Fairy lights glowed along the railing, she’d pulled out the fancy crystal wine glasses, and she’d even folded the serviettes into little fans that she’d put on the empty plates.

Percy took the seat without a wine glass, and his dad took the other.

From a speaker, Nat King Cole played quietly enough that the hush of waves was still audible in the background.

“Mom,” Percy said, “did you ever experience any gun violence when you were a kid?”

His mom slowly put down the corkscrew she was holding, expression somewhere between amusement and alarm. His dad rubbed his face like he could massage the whole conversation out of existence. His mom looked at his dad, then back at Percy. 

“Okay,” she said carefully, “what happened?”

Percy spilled everything, waiting for her to call his dad out, to say that Percy was old enough to be in the skatepark on his own, that she understood how Percy was feeling. But she didn’t. She just gave his dad a disappointed look and changed the subject.

~~~

Percy thought that was the end of it. But later that night, padding back from the bathroom with sleep still heavy in his eyes and his mind fixed only on diving back under his sheets, he heard his mom’s raised voice, muffled from his parents’ room. 

“You always go on about how the sea does not like to be restrained. Well, you’re restraining him!”

Percy’s stomach flipped. This was about him. His mom had listened to him earlier; she’d just been waiting for privacy. He spun right back around, slid onto his belly - the carpet burning his stomach where his pyjama top had ridden up - and pressed his ear to the crack of their bedroom door.

“This was only an hour at the skatepark,” his mom went on, voice clearer now, “What happens when he asks you about his next school trip? The next sleepover? He’s nearly thirteen, for Christ’s sake. You’re acting like a tyrant.”

Something warm settled in Percy’s chest and he smiled to himself. His mom got him. She got that he needed to start doing things on his own.

“I would say no,” his dad’s voice replied. The floorboards creaked back and forth, as if he were pacing, “Grover has already found him, the fates have visited him, we cannot risk anyone else noticing him. He will end up at camp or worse, someone might…” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t speak whatever it was into existence.

What did his dad mean? Was there something wrong with him after all? Percy’s fingers drew circles into the carpet. Was that why his dad never let him do anything alone? Would he have to go to a special camp if people found out? Percy already had ADHD and dyslexia. He didn’t want anything else.

“Well, maybe it’s time he goes to camp then,” his mom said.

The creaking stopped, and silence pressed through the wood.

“You cannot mean that, Sally. Surely, you cannot possibly mean that,” his dad said, so low Percy had to shuffle as close as he could to the crack, the door frame leaving a painful indent on his ear. It was the only reason he could hear his mom’s whispered response.

“We always knew this would have an end date.”

“No!” His dad practically shouted, before his voice softened, “Sally, please. We still have time.”  

“One of us needs to think about what’s best for Percy.”

“And I’m not?” His dad’s voice sounded bitter.

“I think you’re being selfish.”

“Selfish?” His dad gave a harsh laugh. “If I were truly selfish, I wouldn’t have let you say no to my first offer.”

There was a long bout of silence. Percy held his breath and kept very still, not wanting to risk being heard.

His dad spoke again, this time his voice sounded weak. “Do you think you would ever reconsider?”

“Poe…”

Percy’s mom was calling his dad by his middle name. That was never a good sign.

“I don’t need you to change your mind. I just need to know if there’s a –”

“Poe, please don’t look at me like that.”

“Sally, please.” A heavy thud sounded, like his dad had fallen to his knees. “Please, I don’t want to face eternity alone.”

Percy’s throat tightened. He’d got it all wrong. He’d got it all so, so wrong. They weren’t just talking about sending Percy to a special summer camp. They were talking about - he threaded his fingers through the carpet, clutching the fibres tightly - they were talking about divorce. And it was all his fault.

“I - I need some space,” his mom said, “I need to think about what’s best for Percy, and for me.”

The floor creaked like something heavy was getting off the floor. Footsteps approached the door and a shadow appeared in the strip of light from the crack.

“Fine,” his dad said, voice sounding right on the other side of the wood, where Percy was currently lying on his stomach.

Panic punched through Percy. His dad must be about to leave the room. He scrambled upright and dashed down the hallway on his tiptoes, heart hammering against his ribs. He slipped into his room just as the sound of his parents’ bedroom door opened.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and Percy realised they were heading straight towards him. He dove into his double bed, sheets tangling around his legs, just as his door eased open, and his dad’s silhouette filled the frame.

“Hey, Perce?” His dad asked.

Percy cracked open his eyes, pretending to be groggy with sleep. “Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I kip with you tonight?”

Percy’s chest twisted. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Your mother was just snoring really loudly, and I would rather not sleep on the sofa.”

“…Okay, Dad.”

His dad crossed the room, pressed a kiss to his forehead, then slipped under the covers beside him. Percy held still, pretending not to notice the soft hitches in his father’s breath that sounded like muffled sobs.

His dad’s breathing evened out eventually but Percy stayed awake, his eyes burning, unable to sleep until he heard the trill of birds announcing the sunrise.

~~~

The next day, Percy just felt numb. Tired and numb. When his dad’s car rolled past the school gates, the security officer made the usual friendly small talk to them both, but Percy barely registered it. He slumped in the passenger seat and stared out the window as the red towers of his school came into view. Nothing felt real, it was like he’d woken up in a videogame.

Percy went through his classes as normal, but his eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall as the hands edged nearer and nearer to six pm, the time when his dad would get off his shift and pick him up from After School Club.

Percy didn’t want to go home. This morning had been bad enough. They’d eaten breakfast together as a family in a tense silence, his parents hadn’t said a word to each other and his dad had kept shooting his mom hurt looks when she wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to have to sit in rush hour traffic with his dad for more tense silence. He didn’t want to see his parents hardly talking to each other over dinner.

Grover, who was sitting at the desk next to him, kept shooting him concerned glances. Eventually, he tapped him on the arm and slid him a folded piece of paper. 

Percy really didn’t want to put the effort into deciphering whatever Grover had written on it, but when he unfolded it, he realised the words were simple. ‘You okay?’

Percy met Grover’s eyes and shrugged.

Grover gave him a sympathetic look, bending across the aisle to give him a quick pat on the shoulder, and took the paper back. Grover spent a while scribbling on that piece of paper, rubbing stuff out, chewing on the back of his pencil, and scribbling again.

A few minutes later, the paper was passed back to him. The incredibly smudged words, ‘let’s talk later, yeah?’, were written on it.

Percy shrugged again.

~~~

At three pm, the bell rang, signalling the end of school. Percy shuffled slowly towards his locker with the crowds. He was not looking forward to the next three hours at After School Club, trapped on a hard plastic chair under the watchful eyes of Mr. Bowers and the other kids, with the too-cold AC. And, he thought, sparing a glance back at Grover’s curly hair where he was walking to his locker on the other side of the hallway, what the hell would he tell Grover?

Percy reached his locker and slowly began unpacking and repacking his bag.

“Hey, Percy!” A voice called out. It was Ben from his swim team who had a locker next to him. “The rest of the swim team are going to Shake Shack. Wanna come with?”

Percy chewed on his lip. Shake Shack sounded amazing right now. Far better than concentrating on geometry homework which was what waited for him for the next three hours. But he felt a dull pang in his chest. He knew he couldn’t go.

“My dad’s picking me up at six.”

“That’s no problem, my mom can drop you back before then,” Ben said, shooting him an easy grin as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder, looking back at him expectantly.

Something strange came over Percy then, it was like he was watching himself from outside his body. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he wasn’t allowed. He knew these rules were what had caused his parent’s argument last night in the first place. But all those thoughts felt strangely detached, like he could see them behind a pane of glass, but he couldn’t feel them. All he could feel was a weird emptiness instead, like nothing really mattered right now.

Besides, if he was back before six, would his dad even notice he was gone?

The idea gave him a strange, giddy excitement. If he went out for a milkshake with his swim team, his parents would have no idea. He would actually be able to get away with it.

Percy pulled his wallet from his bag and slammed his locker shut on the half-packed mess. “That would be awesome,” he said, trying to sound like going out for a milkshake with friends was completely normal for him, though his chest thumped with exhilaration. Was he actually doing this?

Chapter Text

Percy hadn’t realised that a trip to Shake Shack meant cramming five twelve-year-olds into the two back seats of a Mini Cooper. Ben had even wedged himself into the trunk to make more room as well, his voice popping up every so often to tell them how much their school bags stunk of old cheese.

“I am so going to be caught by the cops, oh my God,” said Ben’s mom, peering at them all in the rear-view mirror as she swerved into the underpass beneath the highway. Jeremy, the smallest of the swim team, had ended up perched on Kyle’s lap, and Kyle kept complaining about his bony arse, much to Jeremy’s indignation. Percy was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. He felt so free.

The group were unceremoniously dumped in front of a strip mall while Ben’s mom went to pick up some “bits and bobs” from a nearby Kroger. Percy took the chance to walk a lap around the parking lot, stretching his cramped legs, while the rest of the kids entered Shake Shack.

It was when he made his way towards the patch of undergrowth at the corner of the strip, that a strange chill shot through him. Percy became aware of the strangest sensation of being watched. He tensed, scanning the dark shadows between the trees at the side of the lot. One of the shrubs shook, out of sync with the gentle breeze. He started towards it. 

Ben called out, telling him to hurry up already.

Percy turned his back on the trees, ignoring the prickle that ran down his spine, and crossed the tarmac, following the smell of fried food drifting through the air.

The moment he walked inside Shake Shack, he recognised the dark wooden panelling, the wooden stools, and the stairway going down to the restrooms. He’d been here before with his parents. A sudden swell of emotion caught him off guard and his throat tightened. He swallowed, pushing the feeling back down, and joined his friends at the table near the door.

As soon as he’d settled down, the restaurant door swung open and hot air rolled in. Percy looked up to see a woman step inside.

She was far too impeccably dressed for a fast-food chain. She was wearing a long coat that might have been made from leather, and her hair was pinned back into the neatest bun Percy had ever seen. Percy wondered why she didn’t go to the next-door Cheesecake Factory, she seemed like the type.

Their eyes met and she stared at him, holding his gaze, as she just stood there in the open doorway. Some time passed, and she kept staring. Percy fidgeted in his seat, beginning to feel uncomfortable. She wouldn’t stop staring.

“I don’t have anything on my face, do I?” he turned to Kyle who was sitting beside him.

Kyle shook his head. When Percy looked back, the hostess was leading the woman to the table beside theirs. She chose the seat facing him, dark eyes still locked on him. Goosebumps flared up Percy’s arms. A faintly smug expression curled across her red lips.

Their milkshakes arrived, clinking down onto the table. The team attacked them with abandon. Across from him, the woman hadn’t even picked up a menu. She was still staring at him.

~~~

As soon as they left the restaurant, a hand clamped down around his arm. Percy spun to see who it was. It was the woman from the restaurant.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

Oh, Percy thought, as it clicked as to why she’d been acting so weird with him, does she have dementia?

“Ma’am, I think you’re confused,” he said, trying to give her his best empathetic smile. He’d seen the Notebook, he knew how tough dementia was for old people,

She ignored him and started pulling him across the parking lot, away from his friends. He tried to wrench free of her hold, but her grip was iron-tight. How was her hand so strong? She was just an old lady.

“Please,” he said, “let go of me!”

“Hey!” Ben’s voice rang out. The rest of the swim team turned, faces twisting with alarm. “Lady, this is a kidnapping. I’ll call the cops!” Ben brandished his phone like a weapon.

For the first time, the woman glanced their way. She flicked her free hand, as if swatting away a bunch of flies, and in an instant, the panic bled out of Ben’s face, and his eyes went glassy.

“It’s fine,” Ben said, “she’s his aunt.”

“What? No, she’s not!” Percy shouted after them, he started shaking off her grip with more force, desperately reaching out for his friends with his free hand. But they turned back towards the shops as if nothing was wrong.

The woman shoved him forward, smiling now, her eyes bright with something cruel. “Well, boy, you’ve been awfully hard to find. But I’ve got you now. My lord will be very pleased indeed.”

“I promise you, I’m not who you think I am!”

“I’m sure.” She said, her voice laced with amusement. And then her face started to change.

Under Percy’s disbelieving gaze, her skin and hair seemed to slough away in chunks, exposing brown-pink scales. Her long coat writhed – and Percy could only watch in horror – as it unfurled into leathery wings, membranes glowing red against the sunlight, interspersed with dark veins like those of a bat.

“What the hell,” Percy whispered, bile rising in his throat. She smelled like that rotten egg smell from those fumaroles he’d seen in Saratoga Hot Springs once. This can’t be real, he thought, this can’t possibly be real.

And then her wings started beating back and forth, impossibly lifting her into the air. Percy was yanked off the ground along with her, dangling in her grip like some dog’s chew toy.

His instincts took over. He balled his fist and swung with everything he had. His knuckles cracked against her scaly cheek, sending fire shooting up his arm. She screeched, and her grip faltered just enough for his shirt to rip through her talons. He dropped to the ground.

He hit the asphalt hard but rolled with it, like he’d learned to do with wipeouts at the skatepark. His skin stung where it scraped against the tarmac, but he hadn’t broken anything, and he wasn’t winded. He scrambled upright, bolting for the grove of trees at the side of the lot, searching frantically for a stick, a rock, or anything to fight with. He’d had fencing classes before, so maybe he could use something. But the strip mall was well-pruned and there was nothing.

A shadow swept overhead. She landed in front of him with a thud, wings stretched wide, cutting him off. Percy backed up fast, but his shoulder blades smacked against the brick wall of the strip mall. Oh no. He was well and truly trapped.

She prowled towards him slowly, like a cat toying with its prey, a victorious grin on her face. Percy’s legs shook so hard he thought they might give out, but he put his arms up between them in fists. There was nothing else he could do.

And then a car came screeching into the parking lot.

~~~

Percy recognised the truck instantly. No way, he thought in shock, how?

It was his dad. He could see him behind the wheel, face pale and furious, still in his bib-and-brace oilskins, with tufts of hair sticking out of his swept back hairstyle like he’d been running his hands through it excessively. The car door flew open, and he leapt out, sprinting towards them at full speed. A glowing, golden sword appeared in his dad’s hands as if out of nowhere, and he levelled it at the woman.

“Get away from him,” he shouted, skidding to a halt between Percy and the demon-lady, using one arm to shove Percy hard behind him. It was with so much force, that Percy stumbled to the ground.

Percy twisted round and looked up from the tarmac just in time to see the demon-lady cackle and raise her long talons to strike. His dad caught her talons on the end of his sword just in time and their faces got close, locked in a stand-off.

The demon-lady’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, staring hard at his dad’s face.

Percy noticed that the tip of his dad’s sword began to shake ever so slightly, but he otherwise seemed perfectly confident, with his chest puffed out and his shoulders back, like fighting winged demons was something he was used to.

“Well,” the demon-lady said, with something that looked like incredulity, “I can’t say I expected this.”

She beat her wings a few times and swooped up and into the air, hovering just outside of the sword’s reach. She easily dodged his dad’s next swing.

“Face me,” his dad snarled, looking up at her, twirling his sword in one hand.

She smiled in what looked like bemusement. “No, I don’t think I will.” And with that, her wings snapped wide, and she shot into the sky.

His dad lunged forward again, but it was too late. She was gone. Percy felt himself untense, he really thought he would have been a goner.

“Styx,” his dad roared, slamming the sword down into the ground where the demon-lady had last been standing, as if that could somehow still injure her.

Percy stared, incredulously, as the sword easily went through the tarmac like it was butter. Just as easily, his dad pulled the sword out of the ground and somehow made it disappear. In his hand was a bronze-coloured pen instead.

Percy felt weirdly woozy and blinked a few times to clear his vision, but it was still a pen. He didn’t imagine that it was a sword, did he?

And didn't that demon-lady have wings? For some reason, all Percy could remember was her leather coat, how she was aiming a gun at him, and how she’d run off when his dad stepped in. Had he been hallucinating that she was a demon this whole time? He wasn’t going crazy, was he? 

His dad turned to face him.

Percy braced himself for the lecture, but when Percy looked at his face, all Percy could see was raw and desperate fear. His dad reached for his pearl necklace, as if he was about to take it off, but seemed to decide otherwise, and put his hand back down.

“Get in the car,” his dad said, “get in the car now.”

“What?”

“Now!” His dad said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the car, “we have to hurry.”

He threw a frantic glance up at the sky, opened the car door, and pushed Percy inside.

~~~

For some reason, Grover was in the car.

He was hunched in the backseat, face pale, and his hands were shaking around something small and wooden that Percy didn’t recognise. Percy noticed, absently, that he didn’t have his crutches. He refused to look at Percy, like he was guilty about something. Had he ratted him out?

“I called your dad as soon as you didn’t turn up to After School Club,” Grover muttered, eyes fixed on his knees, as if he could tell what Percy was thinking.  

“You what?” Percy blurted, a sharp pang twisting in his chest. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he was right to,” his dad said as he slammed the driver’s door shut behind him, started the truck, and stamped on the accelerator. “If you hadn’t noticed, you almost died.”

The truck shot forwards, tyres squealing as his dad yanked it into gear. Percy’s shoulder smacked against the door. Grover let out a squeak but otherwise stayed silent.

The truck swerved onto the highway so fast, it made him feel nauseous. Percy’s eyes flicked to the speedometer. Ninety miles an hour? Percy quickly fumbled with his seatbelt, clicking it into place.

Percy was about to demand what the hell was going on when he caught sight of his dad’s hands. They were locked on the steering wheel like it was a lifeline, his knuckles were basically bone-white, and the veins stood out like cords. Oh, his dad was furious, Percy thought. Percy knew better than to interrupt his dad when he was like this and waited for the inevitable lecture.

“You deliberately disobeyed me, Perseus,” his dad said – and, whoop, there it was – he met Percy’s eyes through the rearview mirror and Percy flinched at the cold fury he saw there. “You were supposed to go to After School Club. And what did you do instead? Oh yes, you left the school grounds. And better yet, you told no one where you were. Poor Grover thought you’d been abducted. What on earth were you thinking?”

Percy’s cheeks burned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Grover seemed to shrink even further into his seat. Percy hugged his arms across his chest. When his dad put it like that, he didn’t have an explanation that didn’t sound pathetic.

“I messed up.”

“You messed up?” His dad gritted out, “messed up? If I hadn’t arrived when I did, you could have died. How would I ever explain that to your mother?”

Percy felt a prickle of indignation at that, because leaving school and making Grover worry was one thing, but being attacked by the demon-lady was not his fault.

“She attacked me!” He shouted. And suddenly he was boiling with anger, because something big must be going on and his dad knew all about it. That’s what his parents’ argument had been about last night. That was why his parents were breaking apart. His dad was keeping secrets from him. His dad’s gaze stayed hard in the mirror, and Percy couldn’t take it anymore. He would end the guessing if he just said it. He would force the truth into the open, even if it meant revealing he'd been earwigging. He was so done.

“Percy,” Grover warned, voice thin, as if he already knew what Percy was about to do.

Percy ignored him. He lifted his chin, crossed his arms, and stared his dad down. “Are you and mom getting a divorce?”

Silence slammed through the car. His dad’s gaze flickered back and forth between the road ahead and Percy in the mirror, gaze unreadable. Percy braced himself for his dad's reaction, his pulse hammering. 

“That’s what this is all about?” His dad said finally. But his voice was so soft, like all his anger had completely dissipated.

Percy clenched his jaw and looked out the window. He’d wanted anger, not this sad look in his dad’s eyes that made him look like he was seconds away from crying. That just confirmed everything he didn't want to know. He put his head to the pane and concentrated on the surroundings, fighting the pressure building in his throat. Percy watched as tree after tree went by. They clearly weren’t on the highway anymore. Instead, they were on some random backroad that he didn’t recognize, without a car or a road sign to see for miles. Where was his dad taking him? And why?

“Percy,” his dad said quietly, “look at me.”

He forced himself to glance up at his dad.

“Your mom and I will be okay,” his dad said, eyes filled with a gentleness Percy had not been ready for. A knot formed in Percy's throat, and his stupid eyes started to prickle. Grover shifted uncomfortably beside him. 

“We just want you safe,” his dad continued.

“Safe from what?” Percy tried not to choke on the words. It really was about him. 

His dad glanced up at the sky with a worried expression and then glanced at Grover. Grover shook his head firmly, as though answering an unspoken question. His dad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You must have seen some unusual things today, and I can imagine that you’re not sure if they’re real or not,” his dad went on, turning his attention back to the road, “but I can assure you they’re quite –”

His dad’s words broke off and his eyes went wide. He slammed the brakes.

The world lurched forward, Percy’s seatbelt cut hard into his chest while Grover slammed into the seat in front of him with a yelp, arms windmilling uselessly, as the truck skidded to a violent stop. Percy glanced up to see what it was that had caused his dad to stop.

There, in the middle of the road, blocking the way up to the hill ahead, stood a man with his arms folded.

~~~

For a moment, his dad didn't move. He sat in the driver's seat, taking a few deep breaths, as if he was collecting himself. Then he reached up, touched the pearl at his neck, set his shoulders, and opened the car door.

“Whatever happens, stay in the car,” he threw over his shoulder as he climbed out. The car door slammed shut behind him and he locked it, cutting Percy and Grover off from the world outside. And leaving Percy feeling strangely bereft. 

A restless energy built under Percy's skin. He wanted to get out of the car and walk off the weird feelings roiling around in his chest. He wanted answers. He wanted to demand what exactly he was being kept safe from, because he needed to know if he was going crazy after all. He tapped restless fingers against the seat, shifted, and finally fixed his gaze on the figure outside, because what else was there to do?  

The man wore a quilted robe that looked like it belonged in a 1950s catalogue. His dark eyebrows were combed into wings, his moustache trimmed into handlebars, and his hair was coiffed. To Percy, he looked like he might have been some eccentric wizard in Harry Potter you knew not to take seriously, if it wasn’t for his expression. His face was fixed like stone, eyes in shadow, glaring down at Percy’s dad as he approached. It made Percy's skin crawl. 

“Oh Styx,” Grover said under his breath. “This is so not good.”

The man’s lips moved, silent behind the glass. Percy leaned forward, wishing he could lip-read right now. Whatever the man said, Percy’s dad took offence. The muscles in his dad’s jaw jumped like they often did when he was angry. Weirdly, his dad didn’t take his usual defensive stance like he did with strangers. Instead, he moved his arms around in wide, offended gestures as he strode up the hill, just like he did when he was ranting about something with his mom. Did his dad know this man? And more importantly, how had this man known that his dad would come here?

The moustached man stood firm and raised his eyebrows, seemingly unbothered by his dad’s anger. Oh yeah, Percy thought, they definitely knew each other. The man said something else and uncrossed his arms, letting them hang beside him stiffly.

The seat vibrated underneath him, distracting him. Percy glanced to the side to realise Grover was jiggling his leg up and down, hands tense around the head rest in front of him, watching the two men in what looked like growing horror.

“Okay, Grover,” Percy said, “what do you know?”

Grover paled and shook his head like he couldn’t speak, eyes glued to the hill.

“Well, you obviously know something,” Percy muttered, frustration tightening in his chest. Everyone around him seemed to be in on this big secret, and he was just left in the dark. 

He dragged his eyes away, scanning the roadside for anything that could give him a clue as to where they were. It was then he noticed a wooden sign with a golden sun, green fields, and strawberries painted on it. They must be at some sort of strawberry farm then. Seriously, where were they? Percy knew there were farmlands in the western parts of Long Island, but that was the opposite direction of their house. Where the hell was his dad taking him?

When he looked back, his chest lurched. His dad’s palms were pressed to his eyes. And unless Percy had completely lost it, his dad was crying. He was crying in front of this moustached weirdo, on some random backroad in the middle of nowhere. What the hell was going on? 

The moustached man rocked back and forth on his heels for a second as if not sure what to do, and then his arms came up, and he woodenly placed them around his dad. For a moment, Percy thought his dad would shove the man away, but his dad just let the man give him what looked like the world’s most awkward hug as he continued to cry. The man patted his dad’s back a few times, looking out into the trees like he was questioning all his life choices.

Percy glanced at Grover, who had ducked his head and was staring hard at the ground, as if looking at the scene might burn his eyes.

Finally, the pair broke apart. Percy’s dad rubbed at his eyes with the collar of his t-shirt, nodded once, and turned back towards the truck and met Percy’s eyes. He set his face into something that looked like determination and made his way towards them.

The moustached man turned so his back faced them, as though granting them privacy. Although, he was obviously still within earshot.

His dad opened the passenger door next to Percy and crouched down, so they were eye level. Percy noticed how his eyes were rimmed with red.

He brushed Percy’s shoulder where he’d scraped it in the strip mall earlier, and bits of grey stone tarmac came off. His dad didn’t say anything for a while, as if he couldn’t find the words for what he had to say.

“Okay, Percy,” he said finally, “I’m going to have to go away for a bit and I’m going to have to send you to that summer camp you obviously overheard me and your mom talking about last night.”

Percy didn’t even care his dad had caught him earwigging. Because his dad wanted to send Percy to camp now? When he’d been so against it last night? Percy’s gut clenched. He must have really messed up. 

His dad continued. “There are things you need to know before -”

"We’ve got an audience,” the moustached man cut-in, turning around and shooting Percy’s dad what looked like an apologetic look. He turned to face Percy for a second, nodded, and then wandered off in the direction of the trees at the side of the road.

His dad swore, clearly knowing what the man meant. He looked past Percy to Grover behind him. “It’s time,” he said, “but we need to hurry, and there’s not enough time to explain.”

Who exactly was this ‘audience’? They were in the middle of nowhere, and there was absolutely no one around. Percy couldn’t even hear a rush of cars that normally made up the backdrop of Long Island, or at least the parts closer to New York City. And where was that man even walking to?

“Time to explain what?” Percy asked.

Grover nodded like he knew exactly what his dad meant. He slipped out the car and got his school bag and Percy’s – he must have grabbed it from his locker - from the trunk. The whole thing felt oddly sombre and official, like the moment before you entered a funeral.

His dad put a hand on Percy’s shoulder, drawing his attention.

“Your parent wanted me to give this to you,” he said, odd emphasis on parent, as he drew a bronze pen from his pocket - the one Percy had imagined looked like a sword. He handed it over almost reverently.

Percy pocketed it, chest feeling weirdly tight.  

“All right,” his dad sighed, “as I was saying earlier, I’m going to have to go away for a while -”

“And you’re dumping me at the summer camp you and Mom were fighting about?” Percy interrupted, bitterness bleeding out before he could stop it.

His dad huffed a small laugh. “Yes, we went with your mother’s suggestion after all.”

“To protect me,” Percy clarified.

“Something along those lines.”

Percy wanted to demand more, to argue with his dad until he got the truth out of him, but the ache in his chest was rising fast.

“How long will I be here for?”

His dad looked off into the woods, in the direction the moustached man had disappeared. “Just a few weeks, I think,” he said, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I should be back before your birthday.”

Percy nodded, but the ache didn’t stop. He should feel excited. It was the cool summer camp that Grover had been talking about all year, a trip away from his parents, the kind of freedom he used to dream about. Instead, all he could think about was last night’s argument, and the thought that he'd been trying not to think about all day... My parents would be happy together if it wasn’t for me.

His dad’s other hand cupped the back of Percy’s neck, and Percy looked up at his sombre gaze. His dad’s eyes were wet. Percy swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Things will not make sense at first, but Grover will tell you what he can. And when I see you next, I will explain everything. I promise you that. And I will keep this one, I swear it.”

Percy gave his best attempt at a cheeky grin. “You’d better.”

“Just remember,” his dad said, voice catching, “whatever happens, I love you very, very much. And I am so very, very proud of you.” He brushed Percy's hair back, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Then he released him and gestured to the hill where Grover stood waiting with their bags. “You’d best be going.”

Percy got out the car and started up the slope, his legs feeling as heavy as lead. It felt so simple for something that sounded like it should be so momentous. Was Percy actually doing this? 

“And Percy,” his dad’s voice rang out, “no quests. Whatever you do, do not go on any quests.”

Percy glanced back. His dad was still by the truck, one hand resting on the door frame, eyes fixed on him, tear tracks plain to see on his face. For one agonizing second, Percy thought he might call him back. But instead, his dad gave him a nod, as if to encourage him to keep going.

So, Percy turned, climbed the hill towards Grover, and didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

After what felt like half an hour of walking, Percy finally crested the hill and paused.

He didn’t know what a summer camp was supposed to look like, but he was sure that the lines and lines of neatly trimmed strawberry bushes stacked all the way down the valley to the lake was not supposed to be it. Where were the buildings? He wasn’t supposed to sleep in a tent, was he?

He glanced down the hill they’d just ascended at the tiny version of his dad’s car already motoring back towards the highway. What if his dad had dropped him off at the wrong place? A slight stab of nerves caused his heart to flutter. He didn’t have a cell phone; he wasn’t allowed one. He couldn’t contact his dad. He couldn’t contact him for weeks.

He set his shoulders and pushed through the nerves. Because he could do this. He could prove that he was capable enough to be dropped at a summer camp on his own and stay here for however many weeks without his dad. And, when he got back, his parents would still be together.

“You need to cross the border!” Grover called out, standing just beside a pine tree that towered over the surrounding field.

“What?”

“Come on, you’re nearly there!” Grover called out again, practically vibrating with excitement.

Percy made his way through the long grass, looking for any signs of this apparent border, but everything was completely overgrown. There were no signs of humanity. There wasn’t even a desire path.

He finally reached Grover.

“Look up,” Grover said, softly.

Percy looked up and immediately felt woozy, like he’d just gotten off a boat. While he could still see all the strawberry fields that lined the valley, superimposed on top of them were dozens and dozens of large buildings. He blinked a few times and his vision cleared.

“Woah,” he said.

Because what he swore had just been acres and acres of farmland a few seconds ago, were now large columned buildings interspersed between tall fir trees that looked like they’d come straight out of a movie set. Percy could make out a number of dirt-covered arenas in the centre of the valley where tons of orange-shirted kids were swarming around like ants. Were they fencing? And towards the lake was a large structure with a top that glowed red-orange like a volcano. Percy could make out little dots of orange-shirted people climbing up its flank.

But Percy was confused. Why had he thought this was all covered in strawberry farms half a second ago?

“It’s the mist,” Grover said, as if that made any sense, “it hides the mythical world from humans.” He smiled at Percy with what looked like pride. “Welcome,” he swung an open palm in a wide arc, gesturing to the valley like a stage magician, “to camp half-blood.”

Mythical? Was that supposed to be a joke?

“Ha. Ha.” Percy said, deadpan. “Am I a wizard too, then?”

Grover suddenly looked flustered and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I’ve never actually had to do this part. I’ve taken classes and practiced, but I wasn’t expecting…” Grover continued babbling but Percy was having a really hard time focusing on anything he was saying. “It’s always –”

“Grover!” Percy interrupted, unable to take it any longer. Grover immediately stopped talking and looked at him, cheeks red. “I have no clue what you’re saying.”

“I guess I’ll just rip the band-aid off,” Grover said, as if to himself, and then kicked off his shoes.

They landed somewhere in the long grass behind him. But Percy wasn’t looking at the shoes, he was too busy staring at the bottom of Grover’s jeans.

Because beneath the frayed hems where his ankles should’ve been, there was a flash of coarse brown hair and something hard and black, split clean down the middle. That wasn’t a foot, Percy thought, incredulously to himself, that was a hoof.

Percy screwed his eyes shut and opened them again, but unlike with that demon-lady, or the weird old ladies at the skatepark, Grover’s hooves didn’t suddenly disappear or look normal.

“So, what,” he asked finally, eyes still locked on Grover’s hooves, desperately trying to make this all make sense, “you’re half-goat?”

“I’m a satyr,” Grover said.  

Percy was half relieved that Grover confirmed what his brain was seeing and that he wasn’t going crazy, because he remembered a little bit on satyrs from the Greek Myths book his dad had given him. They were definitely half-goat.

“So,” Percy asked, thinking back to how he’d thought that demon-lady had bat wings, “half-blood means half human, half animal right? Am I -” Percy stopped himself before he could voice the thought out loud, feeling almost horrified. He couldn’t be half animal, could he? Surely that was something he would know.  

“What?” Grover said, sounding panicked, “no, no, no. Half god. You’re half god.”

“Like Jesus?”

Percy finally looked up at Grover. Grover’s eyes were wide with alarm, and he shot a panicked look to the sky. “Nope! Nope! The Greek gods!”

“Okay, but then why am I here? Both of my parents are mortal?”

Grover let out a squeak.

~~~

Eventually, Grover recovered from being flustered, and he explained everything a bit more as they followed a path through the trees. Basically, only half-gods, gods, and nature spirits could cross the camp borders which didn’t make any sense because Percy was none of these. Still, after watching his friend reveal actual goat legs, he couldn’t exactly deny that the mythical stuff was real. He just didn’t see what any of that had to do with him.

After about ten minutes of walking, the trees thinned and a blue, colonial-style house came into view. A large porch wrapped around the front, leading into a conservatory. Through the glass, Percy could make out a man with a large bushy beard and equally bushy hair, reclining at a table as if asleep. Though it was hard to tell if he really was asleep, because he was wearing sunglasses inside.

As they approached the porch, the man in the conservatory tilted his head up and peered at them over his sunglasses.

“So, this is the kid you’ve been so weird about, Grover,” he called out. “Come here.”

Percy watched Grover’s throat bob before he approached the entrance of the conservatory, hovering just short of the doorway. Percy followed a few steps behind.

“Sir, we’re just looking for Chiron and –”

“Ah-ah-ah.” The man interrupted Grover, holding his hand up in a ‘shut-up’ gesture which made Percy instantly dislike him. “Why don’t you sit down and join me for a game of pinochle?” He gestured to the table in front of him.

Percy glanced down to see three hands of cards already dealt. He frowned. Had this man just happened to have a game set up for three? Or had he known they were coming?

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Grover still standing, fists clenched at his sides. The man straightened, shadows falling across his face.

“Grover,” the man said, his voice low and threatening.

Grover immediately hunched in on himself, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite the man. He suddenly looked very small.

“Who are you?” Percy demanded, as he remained standing with his shoulders back. He wasn’t about to just play nice with someone who treated his friend like that.

Grover glanced up at him, pale, and gave a tiny shake of his head. Percy ignored it. No one got to be rude to his friend like that.

The man tilted his head, looking at Percy consideringly. It struck Percy how black his irises were, as if every bit of light and fun had been sucked out of them. It was slightly unnerving.

“The more interesting question,” the man said slowly, “is who are you?”

“I’m Percy Jackson.”

“No, no.” the man said, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t care about that bit, Peter. Who’s your parent?”

Percy clenched his jaw. He knew what the man meant, but he wasn’t going to play along. “Sally and Billy Poe Jackson.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Your godly parent.”

“I don’t have a godly parent.”

“Sure, kid.” His tone made it sound like Percy had just said Santa was real.

Percy tried to stifle the anger rising in his chest, taking deep breaths the way his dad had taught him. This guy was probably one of the camp directors, and he didn’t want to get kicked out of something else. He needed to prove to his dad he could be trusted at this summer camp.

“Look,” Percy said, trying to stay as calm as possible, “my mom is my mom. There are literal pictures of her pregnant with me. And my dad is my dad. He’s been with her since before I was born.”

The man laughed. “Your mom was a cheater then. Tale as old as time.”

“What?” Percy exclaimed in horror, heart pounding in his ears. “No! She would never! My dad is my dad. Grover, tell him!”

But Grover just stared at the table, fiddled with one of the cards, and said nothing. Percy’s chest ached at the silence. He’d have stood up for Grover.

The man laughed again. “Ah, kids these days - so innocent.” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eyes, then leaned forward. “Come closer.”

Percy grit his teeth. He didn’t want to obey, especially after what the man had said about his mom, but a strange tug pulled at him from somewhere behind his eyes. He felt as if his feet moved on their own, stumbling across the tiles until he stood close enough to smell the man’s sour-grape breath.

The man took off his sunglasses and gave Percy a cursory once-over. “Hmm,” he muttered. “I thought it’d be Death-Breath.”

“Who?” Percy asked.

“What’s that in your pocket?” the man asked instead, nodding toward Percy’s jeans.

Percy frowned and pulled out the bronze pen his dad had given him, a flicker of dread twisting in his stomach. How did this man know he had it?

“Uncap it.”

Percy did, and cold metal rapidly pushed against his scrambling fingers, causing him to nearly drop it. The pen had become a handle. And Percy could only look at it agape - momentarily forgetting his anger – as protruding from the handle was a glowing, orange blade. It was the same sword his dad had wielded against the demon-lady. He’d not imagined it after all.

“Interesting,” the man said.

Percy looked up. The man’s black eyes gleamed in the swordlight, as if a suspicion had just been confirmed.

“Why?” Percy asked.

Before the man could answer, a horn echoed across the valley. For some reason, Percy recognised that deep, resonant sound as one coming from a conch shell.

“Oh, look at that,” the man said, “saved by the bell.”

~~~

Grover led Percy back along the sunken path through the trees, then veered off so they were walking deeper into the valley, following a wooden sign that pointed towards the dining pavilion. The path was boxed in by interlocking trunks and branches, and the evening sunlight had been cut off by the canopy overhead, casting everything in long shadows.

“You are so lucky,” Grover said as they walked, “so, so lucky.”

Percy worked his jaw. He wanted to know who that guy was, what Grover meant by lucky, but there were far more important things on his mind.

“Why didn’t you stick up for my mom?” he asked finally, unable to hide the hurt creeping into his voice. “I thought you liked her.”

Grover looked conflicted. He fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt as they walked in silence, clearly debating what to say.

“There are these promises in Greek mythology,” he said at last, his voice unusually sombre, “that are sworn on the River Styx. Well, they’re real.”

Sure, Percy thought, why not? He remembered reading about those in the book his dad had given him. They were binding, and if broken, could mean death. Percy swallowed, what did these death-oaths have to do with any of this?

“Well,” Grover continued quietly, “I made one to your dad…”

Percy glanced at Grover, trying to get a read on him. Percy knew that his dad was overprotective, but he was also the kind of person who cried at Marley and Me, who volunteered at soup kitchens every Christmas. He couldn’t imagine him asking anyone to risk their life for a promise.

But Grover was also a bad liar, and Percy could see that he wasn’t lying.

“What?” Percy said, incredulous. “And he just let you?”

Grover shrugged, and that was confirmation enough.

Percy shook his head. This was insane. His dad had been willing to let Grover - Percy’s first real friend - die over some stupid promise? That wasn’t who his dad was. Was it?

Then his stomach dropped. The dad he knew didn’t have a glowing sword or fight demon-ladies. Clearly, there was a lot Percy didn’t know about his dad.

The thought hit hard, and a knot formed in his throat. He was just so overwhelmed by everything. Before he knew it, he’d kicked a nearby log at the edge of the path. The bark must have been rotten, because it splintered all over the ground. It was oddly satisfying, so he went to kick it again.

“Percy,” Grover cried, and it sounded like a bleat. He grabbed Percy’s arm and pulled him away from the log. “I was the one who made the promise. Your dad didn’t ask for it.”

Percy stilled, breathing hard.

“These kids that you’re about to meet,” Grover continued, stepping back and gesturing to the wooded path ahead, “they’d do anything to have even one parent who loves them. Percy, you have two. Do you understand how lucky you are? You have two.”

Too many feelings were colliding at once, and Percy looked away from Grover’s earnest expression. He couldn’t handle this. He started walking again, like he could somehow outwalk all these feelings. Without the fake crutches, Grover easily caught up.

“Who was the man we met earlier?” Percy asked, desperate for a change of subject.

Grover sighed but took the bait. “That was Dionysus - but we call him Mr. D.”

“The god?” Percy asked.

He didn’t really have the energy to feel shocked anymore. Still, part of him couldn’t help but wonder why Dionysus didn’t look any godlier. He thought that the gods would glow or have a halo or something. And wasn’t Dionysus supposed to be the fun god? He didn’t seem very fun.

“Yeah,” Grover said, as if reading his thoughts, “he’s been forbidden from his domains.”

They continued down the path as Grover explained Mr. D’s punishment for going after one of Zeus’s mistresses. It was exactly the kind of distraction Percy needed, and Percy began to feel a little better.

~~~

Soon, the sound of shouting and laughter filled the air, and the trees along the path thinned to reveal an open-air amphitheatre.

There was a central brazier emitting a column of smoke, surrounded by three rounded rows of stone tables subdivided into twelve sections like a clock, all backed onto the lake. One section had what looked like fifty orange-shirted kids crammed around its tables, while other sections were much more sparsely populated, or completely empty. Percy couldn’t understand why they didn’t spread out, there were so many empty seats.

There was also - and Percy did a double take - what could only be a centaur standing off to the side wearing a literal suit, his horse tail flicking idly as he watched over everyone like a school chaperone. Beside him was Dionysus, somehow already there. 

It all felt so surreal.

At the sight of Percy and Grover, the chatter in the amphitheatre died almost instantly. Kids stopped eating and craned their necks over in their direction. The centaur looked up, then immediately began trotting around the outside of the amphitheatre towards them.

“Uh, hi,” Percy called out to them all, “I’m Percy Jackson.” Then he gave them all an awkward wave.

That was obviously the wrong thing to say, as he just received over a hundred blank stares.

The centaur finally reached them, saving Percy from further embarrassment, and introduced himself as Chiron. He also confirmed that, yes, he was that Chiron - the Chiron who trained Hercules. Percy had to stand on his tiptoes to shake his hand.

He felt like he should at least be feeling something. Not this weird apathy as if the world around him was not quite real.

“Do you know who your godly parent is, Percy?” Chiron asked.

“I don’t have a godly parent, sir,” he said, because there was obviously some other reason he was sent to this camp.

Chiron’s heavy eyebrows drew together as he turned a frown on Grover, the disapproval clear enough that even Percy picked up on it.

“Well, for now,” Chiron said, returning his attention back to Percy, “you can sit with the Hermes tables.” He gestured to the tables where the fifty-or-so kids were all crammed together.

Wow, Percy thought, were they all supposed to be Hermes kids?

“As the god of travellers,” Chiron continued, “Hermes accepts all unclaimed demigods.”

Ah, that made more sense.

Percy wanted to protest - yet again - that he wasn’t a demigod, since both of his parents were mortal, but a painful prod of Grover’s elbow to his ribs cut him short. He didn’t want to keep making a fool of himself in front of everyone.

One of the teenagers in the overcrowded section stood up and motioned for the others to scoot down the bench. “Hey new kid,” he called. “Over here.”

The teenager was about nineteen, and Percy thought he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile.

“Ah, thank you Luke,” Chiron said, nodding at the boy. “Off you go now, Percy. Wait for me after dinner, and I’ll make sure you’re settled in.”

Percy made his way over to the empty spot, catching a glimpse of Grover disappearing back down the path they’d come from.

“So, new kid,” the boy – Luke – said, as Percy squeezed onto the bench, “any idea who your godly parent is?”

Up close, Percy saw that Luke had a thick white scar running from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash. It was slightly unsettling.

“I don’t have a godly parent,” Percy said again, not missing the look that passed between the two boys beside Luke. 

A golden platter piled high with fruit, cheese, fresh bread, and barbecued meat appeared in front of him. Percy turned just in time to see a girl whose skin was brown and grooved - like living bark - already gliding away towards another table. 

He glanced back at the table towards his empty cup. Would another girl come with water?

“You just tell it what you want,” Luke said, watching him. “You can have anything you like as long as it’s non-alcoholic.”

Percy gave the cup a considering look and then asked for an alcohol-free hot toddy, a drink his parents gave him when he was sick. He really needed that extra comfort right now, even though it was probably too warm for a hot drink.

He stared as the cup filled with orange liquid, steam curling into the air. When he touched it, Percy was surprised to find that it was piping hot. Okay, that was actually kind of cool, Percy decided. He took a cautious sip of the warm honey-apple-cinnamon flavour, and it instantly made him feel a bit better.

“Grover did explain what this camp’s for, yeah?” Luke asked.

Percy shrugged, still slowly sipping his drink. Everyone here seemed convinced he had a godly parent, but he knew his mom. She wouldn't have cheated. Also, he was practically a carbon copy of his dad. And his dad wouldn’t lie about being his real dad, right?

The conversation moved on, and Luke - who, as it turned out, was a son of Hermes and the cabin’s head counsellor - filled Percy in on the Hermes cabin’s timetable for the next few days. Percy perked up at the mention of canoe practice. He was better at sailing, but he did enjoy canoeing.

~~~

Everyone had just about finished dinner when Dionysus started swatting at the air as if batting away an invisible swarm of bees.

“Nuh-uh,” he shouted, “stay back! Go away. Nope!”

Around Percy, the entire pavilion fell silent. The kids at his table slowly put down their silverware as they all turned as one to stare at the god having what appeared to be a mental breakdown. Beside the god, Chiron looked equally as concerned as he followed Dionysus’s gaze skyward.

“I’m staying out of this,” Dionysus continued, face going red. He jabbed a finger at the sky. “Do you hear me? I’m staying out of this!”

“Is this normal?” Percy muttered to Luke, wondering if Dionysus was having a conversation with a god in the sky or something. Luke just shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Dionysus.

“You can’t just – UGH FINE! Have it your way!” Dionysus snapped and crossed his arms like a sulky teenager.

Chiron cleared his throat and turned to face the pavilion. “Children, I recommend you all close your eyes.”

Percy hesitated, glancing sideways at Luke, who nodded. Percy obeyed and squeezed his eyes shut just in time for the world to go bright. Light pulsed red through his eyelids, and tiny white, black, and coloured dots scattered across his vision. When the light finally faded, the murmurs began.

Percy opened his eyes.  

Standing between Dionysus and Chiron was a golden-haired teenager. He had a pair of golden sunglasses perched on his head and was wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. Somehow, Percy just knew they were from a high-end fashion brand. The teenager’s arms were spread wide as if waiting for applause.

Behind him, there was a golden chariot drawn by four immaculate white horses. Percy realised that it was also hovering a few feet above the ground. This was more like how Percy had imagined the gods. 

“Hello, campers!” the teenager announced, beaming. “Yes, it is I - the god Apollo!”

A few of the younger campers clapped enthusiastically. Percy almost joined in before catching Luke’s small shake of the head. Beside Apollo, Dionysus rolled his eyes.

“I come bearing grave news,” Apollo said, as his voice suddenly dropped, turning deadly serious. He put a hand to his heart. “My son, my beautiful, brilliant son - the god Asclepius - has been kidnapped!”

Any noise that had filled the amphitheatre moments before vanished, making the thunder that followed all the more apparent. Percy wondered if that was Zeus. Judging by the way that Dionysus winced, he guessed so.

He turned to Luke, who was watching Apollo with a wary expression.

“Who?” Percy whispered.

“He’s the god of healing,” Luke murmured back. “So, this is very bad.”  

The god of healing? Percy frowned. Did that mean no one could heal now? And how could a god be kidnapped?

“So!” Apollo said, clapping his hands and drawing everyone’s attention back to him. He seemed completely unfazed by the thunder. “I call upon you, brave children of Olympus, to embark on a quest to retrieve my son!”

So, this was a quest. This was exactly the thing that Percy’s dad had told him not to do. Percy should be safe though, right? The gods would obviously pick one of the older and more experienced kids like Luke, right? Still, Percy shrank in his chair anyway, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

“I’ll allow it on one condition,” Dionysus said.

“You don’t get to veto quests, Di.” Apollo said.

“In this very precarious political situation that you promised not to draw me into, Phoebus, I do.”  

Percy looked at Luke again, hoping for context. Luke’s brows were drawn together, appearing lost in thought. When he caught Percy’s questioning glance, he sighed. “The gods are probably blaming each other,” he murmured, “which explains the weird weather lately.”

That would explain the long drought, Percy thought, as he pictured the parched lawn back home. Now that he thought about it, it had been unusually hot since January. And those weird purple lightning storms that never brought rain suddenly made a lot more sense.

Before Percy could think too much about it, Dionysus pointed a finger straight at him. “You take the new kid.”

Percy’s heart jolted. Oh no.

“That would be very unwise -” Chiron began, but Dionysus cut him off with a raised eyebrow.

“Just look at him, Phoebus,” Dionysus said.

Percy could only watch, frozen to his seat, as Apollo walked down the aisle between the tables until he stood right in front of Percy. The god tilted his head, sunlight glinting off his hair, as he hooked a finger under Percy’s chin, turning his face up. The touch was uncomfortably warm.

“Huh,” Apollo murmured, eyebrows raising. “Yeah, I see it.” He turned away and headed back to Dionysus. “Yeah, I don’t see a problem with that, I accept your condition.”

“Wait, what?” Percy said. “But I can’t go on a -”

Luke’s hand shot out and gripped Percy’s arm hard. He shook his head.

“What?” Percy whispered.

“We’ll talk to Chiron later,” Luke whispered back, “we’ll get you out of this, don’t worry.”

Percy let out a breath.

“Great!” Apollo said, clapping his hands again. “My son Lee will lead the quest. Lee, do you accept?”

A blond boy about sixteen rose from one of the sparser tables. He was trembling slightly, but he stood tall and put his shoulders back. “Yes, Father.”

“Excellent!” Apollo beamed. “Time for gifts!”

And with that, the god snapped his fingers. And, almost immediately, thunder rumbled ominously across the sky.

At first, Percy thought nothing else had happened. But then the kids at the nearby tables started chattering excitedly, getting up from their seats, and pointing towards the clearing beside the pavilion. Percy craned his neck, trying to see past them, and caught sight of a golden sports car parked in the grass, a huge red bow was tied around its bonnet. That definitely hadn’t been there before. Was this Apollo’s gift?

“You can drive, right Lee?” Apollo asked brightly, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Lee nodded.

“Fantastic! You’ll also need provisions.” Apollo said and snapped his fingers again.

This time, Percy saw it happen. A golden bow and quiver shimmered into existence, neatly propped against the car as if they’d always been there. With another snap of Apollo’s fingers, a huge suitcase materialised beside it, bursting open to reveal it was full of bundles of green notes. Percy wasn’t sure he’d seen so much money in his life.

Thunder boomed again.

“My lord,” Chiron said, voice tight, “exactly how much money have you just manifested?”

Apollo squinted at the suitcase. “Hmm. I think it’s about fifty thousand dollars?”

“You might want to consider what unsavoury mortals might think of that much money in the hands of a few children,” Chiron said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you could give them a smaller amount?”

“Are you sure? I didn’t think it was that much,” Apollo said, frowning. He snapped his fingers again and the suitcase shrank to half its size, still stuffed with money. “There. Five thousand dollars. Is that enough?”

Chiron pressed his lips together. “I’m sure that’s plenty.”

“Are you not even going to pretend to care about the ancient laws anymore?” Dionysus asked.

“This is what I think of the ancient laws,” Apollo said, looking straight up at the heavens - then held up his middle finger.

Thunder cracked again, so loud the table shook. Heavy clouds rolled across the sky, lighting up purple with flash after flash of lightning.

“Please don’t drag me into this,” Dionysus muttered, looking shaken, “I told you I’m staying neutral.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Apollo said breezily. “Anyways, we need to pay a visit to my dear old oracle. And afterwards, how about a big campfire send-off because, obviously, I’m here, and this calls for a special occasion!”

The amphitheatre exploded into cheers. Someone began banging their cup on the table. Percy noticed that Luke and some of his friends didn’t join in. Did they not like Apollo?

Chiron pinched the bridge of his nose like a man preparing for a very long night. “Curfew still stands,” he said to no one in particular.

Percy turned to Luke as many of the campers began trailing after Apollo towards whoever this oracle was. They had to talk to Chiron. There was no way he was going on this quest.