DESTINY ↳ WILL SOLACE

16. We Take a Zebra to Vegas

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

We Take A Zebra To Vegas

I don't own Percy Jackson

The war god was waiting for them in the diner parking lot.

"Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."

"You knew it was a trap," Percy said.

Ares gave her a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."

Percy shoved his shield at him. "You're a jerk."

Will and Grover caught their breath, but Ares didn't turn her into a hamster on the spot, so she figured that was good news.

Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.

"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L-A, with one stop in Vegas."

The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which she could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

"You're kidding."

Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."

He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy.

Inside were fresh clothes for all of them, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas and a bag of Double Stuff Oreos.

Percy's first thought was to snap that she didn't want his lousy gift, but she managed to stop herself at the last second, though not without gritting her teeth. She knew it was a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but she didn't want to touch anything Ares had. Reluctantly, she slung the bag over her shoulder, only Will's warning look keeping her from punching Ares in the nose.

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover said. "Thanks a lot."

Percy couldn't bring herself to do the same. Thanking him felt a lot like thanking Nancy Bobofit or Smelly Gabe or sarcastic teachers.

She averted her eyes, glancing instead at the diner, which only had a couple customers now. The waitress who'd served them dinner was watching nervously out the window. She dragged the cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of them.

Great, Percy thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

She imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAW BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER.

"You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep her voice level. "You promised me information about my mother."

"You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "She's not dead."

The ground seemed to spin beneath her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept."

"Kept. Why?"

"You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."

"Nobody's controlling me."