Half-Blood Means Two Things || Marauders Era | Percy Jackson ||

|| 1 - I Get Thrown Off A Building ||

"HOLY RHEA, MOTHER OF ZEUS!" I swore.

Now, you're probably wondering why an innocent ten-year-old has such a dirty mouth. Well, let me explain, this ten-year-old is currently being chased for her life by two dozen harpies through the bustling streets of New York.

And, yes, I said harpies. Like the Greek monsters. They are very real and very close to catching me.

And trust me, twenty or so harpies chasing me through heavy traffic is not my idea of a pleasant morning. Have you ever seen harpies? They're ugly. They're vaguely humanoid, like most monsters in my life, with bald heads that have the same function as vulture's heads: to stick their faces into carcasses. They also have extremely sharp teeth and even sharper claws. Oh, and also instead of arms, they had wings that shouldn't physically lift them in the air, but then again, monsters never listen to the laws of physics. Overall, they weren't the scariest looking creatures in the world, but I wouldn't see any of them winning a beauty pageant.

Now, normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, right? I was used to battling bigger monsters, and harpies aren't known for getting their hands dirty. They're rather cowardly, but I had done an unspeakable horror.

"COME BACK HERE, AURELIA!"

"MY NAME IS CHARLIE!" I hollered back over my shoulder for the umpteenth time. I wove in between the mortals on the street, getting a mix of dirty and confused looks. I wondered what they were seeing.

You see, there's this thing called the Mist. It's basically like photoshop for humans. Whenever something supernatural happens--like a ten-year-old girl getting chased by twenty flapping chicken-vulture-ladies -- the Mist kind of bends over it and turns it into something the mortal brain can comprehend. For instance, as I shoved past a little boy, I heard him mutter, "That's a lot of pigeons," in amazement.

Pigeons? Really? I thought as I cast another glance over my shoulder.

I swerved around a hotdog cart and ducked under an umbrella even though it was a hot summer day without a cloud in the sky. I jumped over a bench and scrambled into an alleyway, but I still couldn't lose the stupid bird ladies.

I looked down at what I was clutching in my hands. All I had stolen was a ticket to get one free ice cream cone from McDonald's, but apparently it was the most valuable thing they'd ever owned, or else I wouldn't be running for my freaking life.

"GIVE IT BACK, AURELIA MYERS!" They shrieked in unison. "GIVE IT BACK RIGHT NOW AND WE WILL ONLY RIP OFF BOTH OF YOUR ARMS!"

And you see, on any other day, I would have given it back to them in a heartbeat. But you see, my best friend Ayla and her half-brother Griffin had dared me to steal something from the harpies' nest, show it to them, and then I would get a week off of chores. Who wouldn't take that deal? But, as soon as I had grabbed the coupon, Griffin had shouted like a moron and tipped the harpies off about me stealing their precious coupon -- fast forward to me squeezing between a dirty dumpster and an alleyway wall.

"I'm gonna have to pass on that one," I told the harpies who all shrieked in fury as they scoured the alleyway, looking for me. One advantage I had: I was small and fast. And I could manipulate the Mist. Sometimes, in life and death situations, I could even fool monsters. And, you know, considering I wanted to keep my arms, I was definitely manipulating the Mist, hiding the dumpster I was behind and everything around it in the magical photoshop stuff.

I pushed myself out from behind the dumpster and, as quietly as I could, I climbed up the fire escape, keeping the Mist shrouded around my body, but it was difficult and I was starting to sweat. I'd been taught how to manipulate the Mist, but I hadn't used it in a few months. It took extreme concentration and for an ADHD kid -- that was difficult.