Sea Green Eyes

The Chalice of the Gods - Part Five

Annabeth just rolled her eyes as she tried to ignore the scene.

"Captain Nemo," Cressida said as they walked, "I can hear you grinding your teeth from here. Relax."

"Am not," he said childishly, even though he totally was.

"Honey," she said before smacking Percy's hand with hers and lacing their fingers together. "Take it easy. Enjoy the day. I'll even buy you lunch later."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

She gave him a blank stare.

"Ok! So it does! Sue me!"

"How about I kiss you?"

"Sold."

And they stopped for a second as Percy tugged on her hand, pulling her to him as he kissed and let all the tension flow out of his body. Which was an easy thing to do considering she was the descendant of the god of pleasure and his skin was tingling like fireworks. All he could focus on was the way she held him, the way her lips pressed onto his like it was what they were made for (well that and insulting him which usually led to kissing anyway).

When she pulled away, their foreheads pressed together as her nails grazed his jaw.

"Come on," she said as she took his hand and led him after their friends. And let's just say that his mind was sufficiently mushy enough to forget about all his worries.

The deeper they got into the market, the more the stalls started to offer stuff that didn't have much to do with farms. A leatherworker was hawking hand-tooled pouches, wallets, and knife sheaths. A soap maker offered cruelty-free soap, because nothing is worse than showering with cruel soap. An incense maker displayed a thousand different kinds of smelly stuff to burn.

Blanche stopped suddenly. "Okay, there's my mom." She pointed down the aisle, past a linen towel salesman and a display of macramé plant hangers.

And there was Iris. Today, Iris was a plump, grandmotherly woman with long grey hair and a flowing purple and-white muumuu decorated with . . . well, iris flowers. Her booth was decorated with thousands of crystals—some hanging from embroidered cords, some set in bronze holders, all flashing in the sunlight and sending a riot of rainbows across the market.

"Just relax," Blanche told them. "Let me do the talking."

"As long as I look all right," Grover said, turning his face to the sun in his best impression of a dying wildflower.

Blanche paid him no mind. She marched up to the booth with them in her wake. Iris's eyes lit up as we got closer. "My dear, what a lovely surprise! And you brought . . . friends!"

"They're fellow campers," Blanche said. "They wanted to meet you."

Iris looked them over and her multicoloured eyes did not look as friendly as her smile tried to be. She at least seemed to be interested in Cressida's brightly coloured eyes.

"How wonderful," Iris said noncommittally. Her mouth tugged down at the corners as she examined her daughter. "And I see you're still wearing all black. Didn't you like the scarf I sent you?"

"Yeah, it was great," Blanche said. "The pink hummingbirds were totally my style."

Iris winced. "And I don't suppose . . ." She gestured at the camera. "I don't suppose you have started using colour film?"

"Black and white is better," Blanche said.

Iris seemed to be trying to smile while a dagger was being twisted into her gut. "I see."