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

|| 9 - I Make Some Friends -- And (At Least) 6 Enemies ||

Well, Styx.

I tried not to panic or swear outright, but I was hyperventilating on the inside.

I mean -- honestly? Can't I just ride to the school peacefully?!

Apparently not.

"Well, well, little witch girl," the monster before me hissed.

Before my eyes, I watched as the green tint -- which I'd thought was from homesickness -- spread across her face and arms and legs -- wait.

No.

She didn't have legs. Not human ones, at least.

No, this was a dracaena. A monster from Greek mythology that looked normal from the waist up (if you could ignore the pale green skin and snake eyes) but horrifying from the waist down.

She had dark hair that reached her waist. I repressed a shudder as I looked the rest of the way down her body. Where she should have had legs, she had two... trunks. Snake trunks, to be specific. Let me repeat -- she had two freaking snake bodies for legs! And while I should have been concerned about that, the only thing I could think about was how uncomfortable it must've been to walk in sneakers. And then a moment later, with a mental duh!, I realized she'd been covered by the Mist -- she hadn't actually been wearing shoes.

In the back of my mind, I was concerned with the fact that I hadn't seen right through the Mist, but I was a little more preoccupied with her snake-like fangs and very pointy weapon.

Miss Snake Eyes rose to full height and brandished a long bronze falchion that stretched out all the way across the compartment and hovered under my neck, gleaming.

Celestial Bronze.

Deadly for demigods and monsters. (Although, demigods get the short end of the stick -- we can be hurt by mortal metals, too.)

"Whoa, whoa, hey," I said, pressing against the compartment seat, putting my hands up in surrender, horrified by how close the point was to my neck. If one finger twitched, I'd have a nice sized hole right in my throat.

I needed to kill her -- ASAP -- but I doubted she'd let me grab my backpack and take out my knife.

Monsters aren't very fair when it comes to fighting. Probably 'cause nine times out of ten, we beat them. However, we don't get reborn.

Which meant, if she beat me, I'd die and stay dead.

So, I needed to kill her.

But how?

I could, of course, stab her, and then she'd crumple to monster dust, but what if someone saw? I had a feeling stabbing someone was just illegal in England as America -- more illegal if I had to be honest. Best-case scenario, I'd be arrested and expelled from Hogwarts before I even got there, and then Hecate would let the gods kill me. Worst-case scenario, the witches and wizards would kill me, and then Hecate would let Hades sentence me to the Fields of Punishment for no reason.

I didn't like either of those options.

Of course, I had to get my knife before I could even attempt stabbing anyone.

"Let's wait a second here," I stalled, breathing heavily, eyeing the blade pointed under my neck. "Why don't we put away the blades? Talk like normal... people." I couldn't help but glance down at her legs.

She took that as a personal insult.

She hissed like an angry snake and lunged.

It was only 11 years of relentless training that kept me from being decapitated right then and there. I moved to the side and the falchion sunk into the seat. My leg shot out and nailed her right in the chest, she went flying back, leaving the falchion embedded in the seat. I went to grab it but stopped myself a centimeter from the hilt. It was dripping green liquid that hissed when the droplets hit the fabric of the seat.