little bird - Percy Jackson

chapter twenty seven

Wren didn't care how pretty the buildings were or how cool Annabeth thought all the architecture was, Rome gave her some seriously bad vibes.

You would think she'd be having the time of her life - sixteenth birthday in Rome of all places with her best friend and whatever-the-hell Percy was at her side. She should be having one of the best days of her life. Instead she was racing against a deadline to save her friend while dropping another friend off for a death-defying solo quest while simultaneously trying to avoid Gaea's blood bounty.

Happy sweet six-fucking-teen.

The trio navigated the winding streets, dodging mass groups of tourists, side stepping around the cracks on the cobblestone ground, and Wren narrowly avoiding getting taken out by crazy Vespa driver.

They aimed for the Colosseum, a presumably easy landmark that proved to be impossibly difficult to actually find. Even with the maze that Rome looked like from above, it was a hundred times worse when they were actually in it. Every road seemed to lead them down a dead end, hazardous streets wrapped intricately around gorgeous fountains and huge monuments.

Annabeth was busy commenting on the jaw-dropping architecture, Percy was distracted by a glowing purple ghost that was glaring down on the group from a window above, and Wren was swatting at a flock of pigeons she managed to startle and scare into rushing past her head.

"Jesus fuck!" Wren shrieked, both of her hands held up by the side of her head as she ducked under the beating wings, "Stupid fucking birds!"

"Nice of you to say, Birdie." Percy mused, earning glare and a soft push to the side from the girl.

"Get fucked, Jackson."

"Gladly, Kelley."

That smirk, that stupid, stupid smirk.

The blonde gasped, "Dirty!"

Annabeth let out a disgusted groan, "I think I liked you two better when you hated each other."

The 'oops' grin on Wren's face and the anything but ashamed look on Percy's only reinforced Annabeth's beliefs, "Let's just keep going, you freaks."

"Ten-four, Annie."

"Shut up, Wren."

Wren held a slightly prouder smirk on her face as they returned to traipsing around the Italian streets. The further they traveled, the more spirits, ghosts, whatever they were, Wren was able to spot. At one point she spotted a white-robed woman - a nymph, maybe a goddess taking a ghostly appearance like Aphrodite had - holding a rather spiteful looking knife, glaring at the trio of demigods as she slipped through the white columns in the park.

Because they made Wren feel real self-assured.

Nothing attacked the trio on their way, but Wren had the terrible feeling they were being watched. And the watchers definitely weren't friendly.

It was that same feeling you get when you're a little kid in a dark bathroom saying 'Bloody Mary' three times into the mirror: like something scary was waiting to get you.

Wren had tried the whole 'Bloody Mary' thing one time, and she screamed so loud when Luke Castellan popped up when she opened the bathroom door that a dozen campers came running. Imagine their surprise to find a crying seven year old and a laughing fifteen year old (who was holding his shins from getting kicked so hard) sitting in the threshold of a dark bathroom.

Funnily enough, Luke, the person who'd scared her shitless, was the only one to be able to calm her down when she was unable to sleep the entire week.