GREEK TRAGEDY [PERCY JACKSON A.U] ✓

SIX: THE FOURTH CLUE

Althea laid in the overly plush bed in her room in Semele's mansion two hours later, having been unable to close her eyes and sleep. Her grandmother's comment about ghosts, as well as an overall strange, troubled feeling regarding the house left her incredibly uneasy.

    She sighed, rolling from her side to her stomach, then back onto her side. With a groan and a frown, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

    I'm not going to get any sleep, she thought. Might as well see if anyone's up.

    The blonde tiptoed to the door, cringing when it squeaked as it opened, and shut it as quietly as she could before stepping out into the hallway.

    She first went to Lizzie's room, knocking on the door softly. She pressed her ear to the wood, but only heard snores from inside.

    When she turned to rap on Percy's door, a flicker of movement caught her eye; it was a ghostly girl, probably no older than six or seven, in a long white dress, skipping down the hallway toward her.

    The spirit laughed as she ran past Althea, brushing the demigod ever so slightly and giving her goosebumps before melting into the wall.

    Althea fought off the chill of encountering the ghost and faced Percy's door again, tapping on it quietly with her fingernails.

    She heard the sound of him shifting on the bed, and there was a low "come in." She took a breath and opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it noiselessly behind her.

    Percy's room, like her's, was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from an oil lamp that was mounted on the wall. The walls were plastered with cream wallpaper covered in grapevines, and the floors were a dark wood.

    The boy looked at her with weary eyes, taking in all the details of her appearance like he'd never seen her before: her blonde hair thrown up in a messy ponytail that only functioned to keep her long waves out of her face; a too-big, faded Camp Half Blood shirt that she had stolen from Pollux and fell asymmetrically off one shoulder; a pair of old running shorts; an anklet made of blue string that was surely about to fall apart from age; and her bare feet.

    "I couldn't sleep. Not in that room, not in this house, not alone. It's just... creepy." She told him, noticing how his hair was disheveled and his sea-green eyes looked fatigued. "Oh, gods, were you asleep? I'm sorry, I can go—"

    Percy cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No. I mean, yeah, I was almost asleep. But stay, please." He said with a tired smile, and scooted over on the bed to make room for her.

    She sat down next to him, feeling the soft mattress dip under her weight. He rested his back against the wall and she was directly opposite to him, knees to her chest, with his legs extended on either side of her.

    He was studying his hands, inspecting them with such an intensity that it seemed there was something wrong with them, but Althea knew him well enough to understand that he was just deep in thought.

    "What's on your mind, Jackson?" She asked.

    Percy glanced up at her, wearing a contemplative expression. "Just thinking about the battle of Manhattan. I can't seem to get it off my mind lately."

    Althea raised her eyebrows. "What about it?" She asked, resting her chin on her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs tightly.

    "I don't know, everything?" He shrugged and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "You know, your dad came to me in a dream that night, after what happened on the bridge.