Working With The Thief (Percy Jackson)

Chapter Five: A Horse and a Goat Walk Into A Bar

"Oh, Styx!" He cursed, which was met with the sound of thunder.

As I watched my best friend struggle to put his red converse back on, I just stopped trying to understand it and came to terms with it. Well, I thought to myself, that settles it. Grover's actually a satyr.

I bet if I had some scissors to cut his hair, or even clippers, I'd find some small horns on his head, but I didn't care all that much to ask or find out. I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even Minotaurs, all it meant was that my mom was really gone. She'd been squeezed into nothingness and dissolved in a yellow light.

Leaving me alone. I was alone and... I wasn't an orphan, but there was no way I could live with Gabe in his condition and if he didn't get better...

Then I guess I live on the streets. I'd do it until I was old enough to pass for a 17 year old to join the military. But if losing his wife didn't make Gabe realize that drinking doesn't make things better... If it made it worse, I can't go home to that.

Grover was still sniffing, poor... Kid? Satyr? Whatever the term, he looked like he was expecting to get hit.

"It's not your fault," I told him, not completely convinced that it wasn't my fault.

"Yes, it was," Grover stammered. "I— i was supposed to protect you, and—"

"Did she ask you to protect me?"

"Well, n—no, but it's my job as a— uh, as Keeper," my best friend went on. "At least I... At least I was."

"But why..." And as soon as I attempted to reposition, my vision began to swim and I felt lightheaded.

"Woah, woah, hey, don't strain yourself." Grover reminded me and he walked (trotted?) over and helped me hold the glass I'd almost dropped earlier to my lips, which was embarrassing because I needed help holding a glass and not because Grover was a lot closer to me than he normally is.

Initially, I recoiled at the taste because I thought it was apple juice or maybe even grape juice, but it wasn't anything like that. It tasted like cookies— liquid cookies, but it wasn't just any cookies, it was my mom homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were buttery and hot, the chips still melting, making my whole body feel warm and good, full of energy.

It didn't make the grief go away, but it made it fell like she'd just given me a really big hug, brushed her hand on my cheek like she always did when I was little, and then gave me the cookie after promising me that everything would be okay.

Before I knew it, the glass was empty. I stared at it because I could swear I had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted yet.

"Was it good?" Grover asked as he put the glass back on the table.

I nodded my head.

"What's it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, that I felt awful realizing I didn't offer him any.

"Sorry," I said, feeling guilty. "I should've let you try some."

His eyes went wide.

"What? Oh, no!" Grover insisted. "That's not what I meant, I just... Was curious."

"Oh," I tried to take him at his word. "Chocolate chip cookies. My mom's."

"And how do you feel?"

I smiled.

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

He smiled back.

"Good," my best friend offered me a hand to get up. "because I don't think you could drink any more of that stuff. Come on, Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."