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“Sing for me, Perseus Jackson. Sing with all of your heart, or you and your friends will fail this mission and likely die.”
Percy felt his friends staring at him. They had all managed to survive their challenges from their respective Muses.
Annabeth had woven an epic poem worthy of Calliope.
Piper had made Thalia the Muse laugh with a story about Jason accidentally zapping Leo while trying to jumpstart Festus. They were all glad the Muses overlooked their misty eyes at the mention of Jason.
Thalia the huntress had added to Clio’s knowledge of the Hunters of Artemis, revealing the story of their battle with Orion and anecdotes shared by the Hunters who had once considered the giant a friend.
Leo had amused Polyhymnia with a pantomimed play that was either about Narcissus and Echo or a bulldozer with indigestion, aided by the duct tape on his mouth courtesy of his tool belt.
The Muse of Tragedy had listened to Nico’s tale of the months he had spent under Minos’s thumb, desperate for a way to revive Bianca.
Hazel, Frank, and Grover had also pleased one of the Muses with dance, astronomy, and erotic poetry—Percy was glad that whatever Grover had shared with Erato had happened in a separate chamber. Percy did not want to know some things about his best friend.
Which left only one Muse for Percy: The Muse of Song.
Sweat pooled on Percy’s palms and the small of his back. “Is there a third option? Can I, like, find a missing object of yours instead? I’m really good at finding godly shit.”
“He is indeed, My Lady!” Grover agreed, nodding rapidly. “He found Lord Apollo’s missing celedon!”
“And Lord Hermes’s staff,” Annabeth added, but she was giving Percy a questioning look. Which was fair. Singing hardly seemed like the worst thing a goddess could ask of him, but what she had demanded he sing...
“And the stolen Sword of Hades,” Nico offered, giving Percy a pitying look. He knew that Percy lacked musical talent from their trip to the Door of Orpheus.
“Plus the missing standard of the Twelfth Legion,” Hazel chimed in, which made Frank nod eagerly.
“He also found Zeus’s missing bolt and Hades’s helm,” Thalia reminded.
Euterpe considered their words, but she shook her head. “Alas, young hero, I have no lost objects to be returned.” Her rich, brown eyes narrowed on him, and for a second, it felt like she was staring through him, stripping him bare in a way that made his skin itch. “Karaoke is not usually such a strong barrier for heroes. It is a simple matter. The machine will select a song that reflects your heart. You will be judged on both sincerity and vocal skill. Anything above a 40% will be considered acceptable.”
He felt the hum of ichor in her veins, and for a moment, he was tempted to reach for it, but no. Apollo, no matter how he had mellowed after his trials, would not forgive harming one of his Nine Muses.
Percy was a shit singer. That part he knew.
The part that scared him was the honesty.
Slowly, he stepped up the microphone, his hands tight around the celestial bronze stand. His knees threatened to shake as his friends looked up at him, apprehension clear on their faces while the Muses looked on with tepid interest from their thrones.
A spotlight shone down on him, and Percy squinted and turned, facing the karaoke screen.
The moment the heavy bass riff began, he felt his stomach sink. He knew this song well. He had listened to the track many times. How perfect. How sickening.
Euterpe wanted his sincerity. Okay. Fine.
He opened his mouth and sang the first line, flat and rough, letting the irony drip into his voice. “I can’t escape this hell.” He thought of Tartarus. He thought of all the wars and the quests. He was so tired. Could anyone else see how tired he was?
He saw Nico recognize the song, along with Piper and Thalia. Even Frank. Their faces tightened. The churning thing in his stomach went from a rough sea to a hurricane, but he pressed on. “So many times I’ve tried, but I’m still caged inside.”
After the war with Kronos, he finally thought he could start living, instead of waiting to die. That peace had not lasted long. Nor had his attempt for a quiet life in New Rome.
“Somebody get me through this nightmare!” he begged into the mic. “I can’t control myself.” And that was true. Sometimes the anger, the indignation, the worry slipped out. Storms would howl. The ground might rumble. The water in the air would condense around him.
Every time a god put innocent children in needless danger. Every time a monster attacked. Every time the Roman Senate motioned to put their literal child army through new hell.
His powers were getting stronger—scarier—ever since Tartarus. Ever since that thing inside his gut broke. He could feel blood pulsing through arteries. He could taste tears before they were shed. He was a monster, just like so many of his father’s children.
“So what if you can see the darkest side of me?”
He saw Annabeth’s face go ashen, and he knew they were both thinking back to Tartarus.
“No one would ever change this animal I have become.” Annabeth and his mother had tried so hard to make him feel safe after Gaea. When the greatest danger they had faced for a while had been the quests for those stupid recommendation letters. But Percy hadn’t ever healed.
He’d learned how to smile no matter how much it hurt. Just like his mother had inadvertently taught him with Gabe.
A lump caught in his throat, and he barely managed to scream, “Help me believe it’s not the real me!”
Grover started to cry, and Percy felt his own distress echoed back across the empathy link.
“Somebody help me tame this animal, ” Percy pleaded, his voice cracking. When he was fourteen, he had blown up Mount St. Helens when he’d lost control of his powers. He had displaced half a million mortal civilians.
He feared what would happen the next time he lost control. He feared what he was capable of. He remembered standing over a bloodless monster on the battlefield, gore splayed around him like a halo when a hydra had tried to attack Ella and Tyson.
“This animal, this animal.”
Tyson had not flinched, but Ella had taken weeks to stop fleeing his presence after that.
“I can’t escape myself.” Jason had seen him at his lowest. Jason had saved him, the son of Poseidon, from dying in the ocean because Percy felt like he deserved it after Akhyls. He repeated the line and felt the first tear slide down his face.
Euterpe caught his eye, and Percy continued singing, his heart heavier than it had ever felt, but strangely free at the same time, like a shackle had been loosened.
“So many times I’ve lied,” he admitted. Pretending he was fine. Just a tired college student. A goofy boyfriend. A doting brother. And he was, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t all of it.
“But there’s still rage inside.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the mic as the song built towards the chorus once more.
Each line felt like it was pulled from him like an arrow from a wound. Not his story, not originally, but it resonated with his pain. He was exhausted. He was angry. He loved so many people so deeply. And he feared losing every single one of them.
Years ago, he had met Melinoë and had no ghosts to face. No guilt tying him down. He didn’t think that would be true if he met her now.
He thought of Beckendorf. He thought of Michael Yew. He thought of the demigods, the centaurs, the nature spirits who had fought alongside him and died.
He thought of Bob and Damasen, abandoned to Tartarus.
Percy cried harder, his voice anguished and sharp in his chest, like singing through splintered glass.
He felt like he was bleeding out for the audience, but it was only in his head.
After the bridge, he launched into the final chorus, almost lightheaded.
“Somebody help me tame this animal,” he sang weakly. He was afraid to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment or pity or fear he expected. “This animal I have become,” he finished, letting the bass and guitar play him out.
The moment the song ended, Percy gasped for breath, sinking to his knees. His whole body felt jittery—as if he had pulled an all-nighter and was shivering with cold.
He felt a warm hand on his cheek, which made him flinch. He looked up, surprised to find Euterpe gazing down at him, her eyes almost warm. “Your voice is not suited to song, but your honesty is commendable.”
Melpomene stood next to her. “There is much tragedy in you, Perseus Jackson. And much anger. I cannot say I do not understand it. Apollo has told us much about each of you.”
Euterpe pointed to the karaoke machine. “You have passed, hero.”
The screen showed a score of 50%, and Percy let out a hollow chuckle.
The Nine Muses vanished in a flash, leaving Percy on his knees with a bronze key in front of him.
Frank and Grover raced to him, calling his name.
They pulled him to his feet, ignoring the key that had brought them all to this stupid amphitheater in the first place.
”Are you okay?” Frank asked, and then he winced at his own question and its obvious answer. Still, Percy flashed him a weak smile.
“Percy, you are not a monster,” Grover promised, almost shaking him.
“I know,” he said.
“No,” Thalia growled, looking like she was going to punch him. Instead, she hugged him. “No, I don’t think you do, you fucking idiot.”
He stood there, frozen for a long moment before hugging her back. “But I can feel things—control things—that were never meant to be controlled.”
Annabeth laid her head on his back between his shoulder blades. “Percy,” she croaked. “Oh, gods, Percy. I never should have said that. You aren’t a monster. You were saving our lives.”
“But I—“
Hazel and Nico added themselves to the group hug with Leo and Piper.
“Shut up,” Nico ordered, his voice thick with emotion, and oh gods, if Nico cried too, then Percy would really lose it. “You are our friend. And we are not afraid of you. As soon as this quest is over, I am dragging your ass to therapy, Jackson, so help me gods.”
That startled a laugh out of Percy. He was so far from okay, but somehow, with his eight friends smothering him with reassurance, it was a little easier to believe that he wasn’t as monstrous as he feared.
Just a little.