Flowergirl, Percy Jackson

015. Little Birds

Orestes: We are slaves to the gods. Whatever gods are. 

Lila's father, when she was very young and naive; a girl who thought stars were the souls of the dead and storks delivered babies, once called her a little bird. Lila had asked him why - expecting some cruelty, half waiting for him to laugh or worse, ignore her as he usually did. Instead, he'd smiled and ruffled her messy blonde hair, brushed the dirt off her cheek. You haven't grown into your wings yet, he'd smiled. It was the first kind thing he'd ever said to her, and also the last. She didn't understand the analogy. She was a demigod, not a fairy, and he'd not even known about that. Neither of them had. And even if she could fly, Lila doesn't think she would like to. From her experience in dreams, it was daunting, and Lila is far more suited to the earth. Heights - she dislikes them as much as Percy. She's never even been on a plane. 

On Daedalus's wall, there are several sets of wings, each designed slightly differently, as if they have been polished or intended for a specific person. Lila remembers Percy telling her of Icarus and Perdix. Perhaps the inventor creates these wings to save the children from his past.  Perhaps he dreams of a time when they don't meet their unfortunate, unhappy endings.

There are also rows of jars of Greek fire, lined up on the walls. Scattered designs everywhere, amongst strange mechanisms that remind Lila of some kind of torture device. But it's the wings that catch her attention - there's something strange about them. They don't look ancient at all - there are adhesive straps, modern mechanisms that no Ancient Greek inventor could replicate. They look like something Hephaestus, or his children, would invent. 

"Di immortals," Annabeth mutters, and Lila forgets her confusion in amusement at her friend, who is gaping. "He's a genius. Look at the curves on this building!" 

(It looks like any other curved building to Lila, but she doesn't mention that. Percy looks equally mystified.) 

"And an artist!" Rachel echoes. "These wings are amazing." 

Daedalus has been here recently, Lila notes. His breakfast is half eaten on the table, along with an old cup of coffee - he'll soon be back, too. Lila wonders if there are any extra blueberry muffins - she's kind of hungry. 

"Where are we?" Percy asks, looking out of the window skeptically. 

"Colorado Springs," a voice interrupts from behind them. "The Garden of the Gods." 

(It's not really a garden. She asked Annabeth about it once - its just a beautiful mess of sandstone formations that some man in the eighteen-hundreds thought was a fit place for the gods to assemble. Annabeth always said it was ironic that it was only after he named it that the gods migrated from Europe to America.)

It doesn't matter though, because standing above them is Quintus, their old instructor. His sword drawn. 

Lila gapes. Quintus? Of all the people. Yes, he is a traitor, but he's so harmless. Percy told her he was good with a sword but Lila can't ever imagine being attacked by him. He just lacks the Machiavellian aura which a traitor ought to possess. Or smug arrogance, like Luke, or the tortured fury, like Ethan. Quintus is just . . . resigned. 

"You," Annabeth says, which isn't really necessary. "What have you done with Daedalus?"

Quintus smiles with the corner of his mouth, which is somehow more intimidating. "Trust me, my dear. You don't want to meet him."

"Look, Mr Traitor," Annabeth growls, her face contorting in fury. Lila can see her fist clenching behind her back, gripping onto her favourite bronze knife. "I did not fight a dragon woman and a three bodied man and a psychotic Sphinx to see you. Now where is Daedalus?" Annabeth is scary when she wants to be.