Apollo, Summer, and the Camp for Greeks | DoS #1

VIII. An Ancient Goddess Gives Us Some Wheat

My heart skipped a beat, and slowly, I said, "Are those what I think they are?"

"They're dragons," Alec answered, confirming my suspicions, "Actual, real dragons. Holy Hades."

"Great! We've left ancient Greece and ended up in Middle Earth!"

I threw my hands up, and Riley frowned. Lifting a bronze hand up to block out the light of our father's chariot, she peered closer, and after a moment, gasped. "I think they're looking for a way in."

Just as she suspected, the dragons leaped into the air and flitted down to the ground, landing beside the main doors. No passerby were paying the creatures any attention, even as entrance to the museum opened to welcome them. Apparently, some employee had forgotten to lock up.

"Oh my Gods," Alec breathed, "What if there are still security guards in there? Or even tourists?"

My skin went cold as I realized what he was implying. If these dragons were malicious, and there were people in there, then they were screwed. Looks like Night at the Museum wasn't just some upcoming movie.

I knew what my siblings were going to say before they said it. They were going to drag me in there, and we'd have to fight the monsters with what little energy we have left, dooming us to near-fainting levels of fatigue in the name of protecting the innocent.

As if on cue, Riley suddenly exclaimed, "We have to go make sure, or at least kill the dragons. We can't have some monsters terrorizing the Smithsonian. Think of the tourists!"

A scowl formed on my face, perfectly in sync with the rumbling of my stomach. "Have either of you actually fought dragons before? Wouldn't this be a suicide mission, a waste of br-"

Before I could finish my ultimately selfish excuses, Riley grabbed my wrist and started pulling me across the street, Alec following right behind. We passed the falafel truck, and I jerked my hand away to reach for a kabob, but then Alec groaned, "Escapee, c'mon!"

Yeah, c'mon, A.J., you run away from everything, the rational half of me told myself as I was forced away from the middle eastern cuisine. Sometimes you have to fight, even if you're tired.

The other half of me shouted frustratedly, But I'm not just tired, I'm hungry, too!

It was futile. Within a moment or two, we left the heat of the June evening behind and stepped into the museum. In here, the air was cool and dry, a small relief for a complaint that was only one of many. Even as I took a deep breath and savored the cold in my throat, my stomach continued to lurch.

We were standing in a completely empty lobby. With its high ceilings and lights turned off, the place almost felt abandoned. There was a gift store to our right and a welcoming center to our left, each with grates pulled down over their entryways. Directly across from us was a staircase down, and beyond that, a large wall decorated with a metal sculpture of the American flag.

But our eyes were on the dragons; I could see their tails bobbing as they sneaked down the stairs, eventually disappearing under the floor.

"They're going downstairs," Riley whispered, as though we couldn't already see that.

"Do we even know what museum this is?"

Alec chuckled, and gestured to the flag on the wall. "Based on that display, I'd say this is the National Museum of American History."

I huffed. The least we could do was be fighting in a cool museum, like Air and Space. Somehow, those spectacularly shiny reptiles had chosen perhaps the most boring one. I'm sure my outdoors-y, history obsessed, vaguely redneck father would be proud.