❝ Bennetts are cursed, Sharkboy. ❞
☆ ☼ ☆
Stars filled the sky that night as the four teenagers settled on camping in the woods. They were a hundred yards from the main road, yet they agreed not to make a fire to avoid unnecessary attention. Sheila proposed to dry their clothes, but it didn't help much against the freezing air. Luckily, the blankets they stole from Medusa's office managed to keep them from dying of hypothermia.
Using her sweatshirt as a pillow, Sheila stared thoughtfully at the sky. Annabeth was fast asleep five feet away from her, having closed her eyes when her head hit the ground. Sheila envied her. She wished she could be in a dream right now instead of only laying uselessly on a scratchy blanket. Time was ticking by, and the idea of being unable to complete their quest before the summer solstice stressed her out. They could have gone further if the bus hadn't exploded.
Since Percy had proposed to take the first watch, Sheila had to find a way to fall asleep. She needed all the energy she could get, but her body refused to shut down for at least an hour. Her limbs moved restlessly as she tried to get into a good position. Realizing nothing worked, Sheila laid on her back and counted the stars. It didn't take long before her thoughts drifted, though, and she imagined all the ways the quest could go wrong. Percy and Grover's depressing conversation worsened the outcome of her scenarios.
Tilting her head, the girl reached for a flower beside her. Grover's sadness about the pollution humans caused reminded Sheila how fragile Nature was. Maybe it was why it was so connected to her magic. Both were unpredictable and easily breakable. Humans mistreated Nature despite all it gave them. Campers asked Sheila for help with her magic, then whispered about her and the danger she presented. As if to prove her point, a gush of wind passed and blew off the petals Sheila admired. She sighed, sitting up and listening to Grover explaining his role as a searcher upon Percy's request.
"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," Grover spoke. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore, 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to find Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he hides and wake him from sleep."
A strange breeze rustled through the clearing they found themselves hiding in. Sheila relaxed upon feeling it tickling against her cheeks. It was different than usual, not as warm but not as cold. She frowned slightly and focused on it. The hairs on her arms stood up, making her tighten the blanket she threw over her shoulders. Fire emanated from Sheila's palms, the small flame hidden by her cupped hands.
"And you want to be a searcher," Percy stated, eyes momentarily shifting to Sheila's fire.
"It's my life's dream," Grover admitted. "My father was a searcher. And my Uncle Ferdinand... the statue you saw back there—"
Percy formulated an apology, but Grover shook his head. It was common knowledge amongst satyrs that looking for Pan could be the last thing they ever did. Grover's uncle and father knew the risks, as did Grover, but he was determined to be the one to lift the veil on this mystery. The statistics were against him, and it scared Sheila. She hated knowing Grover's dream might also be his doom. Searchers hadn't met success for thousands of years. To be the first would be to go against the odds.
It seemed Percy realized how risky the mission was as Grover explained how no searchers ever came back. His bravery was a quality to admire. Satyrs disappeared for this cause, yet he wanted to go anyway. Sheila's heart clenched as they mentioned Grover's missing father. It was another thing she admired him for. Grover didn't know where his father was, but he dealt with the grief and chose to follow in his steps. He was honouring his father.
"You'll make your family proud, Grover," Sheila declared, the boys glancing at her. "You'll find Pan and save the wild. I may not know much about the search, but if anyone can do this, it's you."
Her flame died out as Grover smiled. Her words might have added to his false hope, but it wasn't a lie. Grover was braver than he gave himself credit for.
"How are we going to get into the Underworld?" Percy asked, causing Sheila's body to stiffen. It was a turn in the conversation that she wasn't expecting. "I mean, what chance do we have against a god?"
"I don't know," Grover admitted. "But back at Medusa's, when you were searching her office? Annabeth was telling me and Sheila—"
"Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out."
He almost flinched at how quickly Sheila's stare turned to a glare. "Watch your mouth, Jackson. If it weren't for Annabeth, this quest would fail."
Grover's voice faltered as he added, "Don't be so hard on her, Percy. She's had a tough life, but she's a good person. After all, she forgave me..."
"What do you mean?" Percy inquired. "Forgave you for what?"
By the look exchanged between Grover and Sheila, Percy figured out what this was about instantly. Sheila's gaze left his face, now fixed on her hands. The past was something she hated reminiscing about. Everything from before she reached Camp with Annabeth and Luke was a subject she avoided at all costs. However, there was nowhere to go in the middle of the night in these woods. If Percy had questions, Sheila would be forced to answer them despite forcing herself to forget.
Grover was suddenly very interested in playing notes on his pipes. He, too, didn't like it when the forbidden subject was brought up. Sheila waited nervously for an answer that might never be given, staring at the butterfly flying toward her. Why did she have to stay awake and listen to the boys?
"Wait a minute," Percy spoke. "Your first keeper job was five years ago. Sheila, you and Annabeth have been at camp for five years. You weren't... I mean, your first assignment that went wrong—"
"I can't talk about it," Grover interrupted. Sheila sighed when she heard his voice quiver. "But as I was saying, back at Medusa's, we agreed there's something strange going on with this quest. Something isn't what it seems."
"Well, duh. I'm getting blamed for stealing a thunderbolt that Hades took."
"Sucks to be a powerful demigod," Sheila muttered, blocking out the rest of their words.
Thinking about Thalia Grace always caused a whirlwind of guilt in her chest. As a seven-year-old girl, Sheila followed everything the daughter of Zeus did. She admired her. She wanted to grow up and be like her. Thalia noticed it and took Sheila under her wing. She showed her battle moves and some lightning tricks. They grew closer, Thalia becoming the older sister Sheila wished to have. It only accentuated the guilt on Sheila's shoulders.
When the Cyclops attacked their group, Thalia told them to run. Her father's death was still fresh to Sheila, and she refused to lose Thalia next. The issue was that, back then, Sheila didn't understand how powerful her spells could be. Even if her first intention had been to aid, one misstep was all it took for Thalia to lose her focus and give the Cyclops the upper hand. One small flame and Sheila caused their group to lose a member. Moments later, a tree took the girl's place, reminding Sheila of the wrongs her magic provoked every day.
The fear campers felt when they saw Sheila came from this defeat. No one was present during Thalia's downfall, but everyone heard the rumours about Sheila being the source. The burnt mark on the tree overlooking Half-Blood Hill was enough proof for them. They didn't care that Annabeth, Luke and Grover spoke a different story. In their mind, Sheila was a witch with no idea how to use magic. Sheila never attempted to change that title.
A wince escaped the girl's mouth as she leaned on her wounded arm. Glancing at it, she saw blood going through Annabeth's bandage. She mumbled a curse and reached for the bag Percy stole from Medusa's office. It had a spare blanket, big enough so that a small tear wouldn't make a difference. Sheila held the blanket with her good arm, ripping off the edge with her teeth. Using it as a makeshift bandage, she replaced the old one and tied the tissue tightly around her skin. It would hold for now.
"Does it hurt?" Grover asked. "Sorry. I tried to hold her back."
"It's fine," she said, dismissing his words with a wave. "Lucky I'm not an archer. I still don't get why she didn't try to kill me on the spot, though."
Grover shrugged, then stared directly at Percy. "We might have misunderstood something about this quest, and we only have nine days to find the master bolt..." he spoke.
"I haven't been straight with you," Percy admitted. "I don't care about the master bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworld so I could bring back my mother."
Neither Sheila nor Grover was surprised by his answer. It was evident he hid something from them. Envy ran through Sheila's veins. Percy had so much luck. He had a chance to save his mother and go home with her. She didn't hold him accountable for not caring about the bolt. If the choice had been hers, she would have saved her father.
Grover blew a soft note on his pipes. It was calming. "I know that, Percy. But are you sure that's the only reason?"
"I'm not doing it to help my father. He doesn't care about me. I don't care about him."
Sheila, as well as Grover, saw through his lie. While she noticed his tone cracking, the satyr was an Empath. He could read emotions easily.
"Look, Percy," Grover started as he stared at the tree branch he sat on, "I'm not as smart as Annabeth. I'm not as powerful as Sheila. I'm not as brave as you. But I'm pretty good at reading emotions. You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and a part of you wants to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head to Olympus. You wanted him to notice what you'd done."
"Yeah? Well, maybe satyr emotions work differently than human emotions. Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks," Percy lied once more.
Grover pulled his feet up onto the branch. "Okay, Percy. Whatever."
"Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got out of New York, and we're stuck here with no money and no way west."
That put Sheila deeper in her thoughts, and she sat up straighter. "I'll take the first watch. I can't sleep with my arm."
Aware of her stubbornness, Grover did as she told them. He sent her a sympathetic smile, then laid on his side to find a comfortable position. Sheila looked at Percy, silently telling him she was staying up. No matter what he could say. Sighing, the boy leaned against a tree behind him.
"Don't ask why when you're tired tomorrow," Sheila spoke, annoyance lacing her tone. "But seriously, sleep. Like you told Grover, I'll wake you up if anything explodes."
Percy locked eyes with her. Her golden irises were lighter due to the grey butterfly settling on her shoulder. She had put her hair in a bun, but her curls had already fallen out and framed her face. Even in the dark, Percy could distinguish the scar on her neck. It was barely there, but the marks made a distinct form. He also knew about the thin line on her stomach, making him wonder what horrors she endured.
He hesitated to ask her, a tense silence hiding the sounds Nature produced. Annabeth and Grover were out. It might be Percy's only chance to understand her coldness toward him. The wind put him at ease, too, spreading a warm sensation around them as he breathed in it. Did Sheila cause it?
Knowing starting the discussion with her scars might anger the girl, Percy chose another subject. "What's up with you and butterflies?" he asked.
Sheila's eyes narrowed, but before she got too angry, she reminded herself it was expected for someone who knew nothing about magic to ask questions. Percy never seemed to run out of those, though.
"I've always loved them," she answered with a shrug. "They're all unique. Some are stranger than others, like me. I also like that they represent freedom. It's a concept I like even if I never really got a taste of it."
Sheila blamed the nightly time for making her spill her words effortlessly. They left her mouth without waiting for her to agree. But, as Annabeth had once pointed out, she tended to open up after dark, as if the stars protected her secrets and promised never to share them.
Percy was surprised she responded to his inquiry, and so he continued. "What do you mean?"
A heavy breath passed the girl's lips. "I've spent my entire childhood hiding in a camp for people like me, except, even there, I was an outcast. The gods don't communicate with us. They barely acknowledge the existence they forced us to have. I didn't ask for this. None of us ever did. As demigods, we try to ignore the truth of our reality and enjoy life at Camp Half-Blood. It's all just a facade because we all know we belong to the gods. We are their soldiers, pawns to move as they please. Being a demigod is fun until you realize your life isn't yours. Someone will always be there to pull the strings. New kids love the part where they get powers, but then they get to the one where you have to fight to survive. It doesn't matter if you're a kid. When you are claimed, you lose your freedom. I lost mine the moment I was born."
This blew Percy away. Sheila didn't express any emotion on her face, but he could spot the rage she contained in her eyes. It swirled in the golden colour, darkening it slightly. Many kids at the camp also had it, yet Sheila's wrath imposed itself. It had things to say. Years of suffering to let go of. Was Percy bound to feel like this, too? Did Sheila dislike him because she thought he didn't grow up with this anger?
If only she knew he understood her point of view so well due to the man his mother forced herself to be with for her son's safety. Percy and Sheila shared the trauma of childhoods that ended too soon. They were both angry.
"That's why you hate your father, right?" Percy assumed. Sheila merely nodded. "And is that why you hate me?"
Surprisingly, she chuckled at his words. "I don't hate you. Well, if you asked fewer questions, maybe I'd like you more, but that's not it." Sheila stopped herself, pondering whether or not she truly wanted to share this buried secret with Percy. Not even Annabeth knew about the boy who resembled Percy. But, as Michael once told her, secrets were sometimes too heavy to bear on your own.
"You remind me of someone I knew before I met Annabeth and Luke," she admitted, speaking quieter than before. "I don't know why I'm telling you this honestly, but I used to have a brother. Adair Mikaelson." Sheila scoffed, blinking away tears. "Listen, I know campers warned you about my magic. If I were you, I'd listen to them. I don't have a brother anymore because I made a mistake. The same reason why Grover's first keeper job failed."
She made a point there. Percy received a warning from about six kids during his first night in the Hermes cabin. They told him to be wary of Sheila, considering she was an omen of bad luck, as they said. One boy even claimed he heard Chiron say that she had cursed blood. Not liking rumours, Percy didn't pay their words much attention. If anything, it deepened his interest in the girl.
"Someone said you had cursed blood," the boy revealed. He couldn't restrain the "why?" hanging on the tip of his tongue.
"Because Bennetts are cursed, Sharkboy," Sheila declared. "My mother lost her entire family to help her friends. She saw my grandfather die when she was eighteen. Her grandma died after they did a spell together. My grandmother abandoned her as a kid, and when my mom found her, she was turned into a vampire. I don't know why my family is cursed to live in tragedy, but I know the same thing will happen to me. People are right when they say you need to stay away. I constantly fear something will happen to Annabeth, Luke, my brothers and Michael. They're demigods as well, so it makes things worse."
Percy watched as she mirrored his position, leaning against a fallen tree. Bringing her knee to her chest, Sheila let the wind carry her words away. She hated talking about the sad reality of the Bennett witches. Adding to the fact that she shared the blood of the gods, it created a beautiful disaster. Heroes didn't get happy endings, either. How much more could the Fates screw her over?
"But what about you?" Sheila questioned before she could burst into tears. "You're a demigod. You must have a gloomy story to share."
Instantly, Percy's thoughts went to his stepfather. It would be unfair to remain quiet while Sheila spilt her life story to him, but he hated this part of his childhood. He hated the weakness that came with it. Too many times, the boy had watched his mother suffer while he couldn't do anything about it. He didn't want Sheila to think less of him or assume he didn't do anything for his mother. Percy did try, yet he was never strong enough.
"I don't have a cursed bloodline, but I do attract trouble," he declared. "I've caused weird stuff to happen during school trips and got expelled six times from six different schools. I guess now I know why the aquarium flooded in fifth grade."
Sheila huffed a laugh. "I would've hated being there with all that water. Sitting by the lake is fun, but being covered in water? No thanks."
"You don't like water?" Percy asked, receiving a shake of the head. "So that's why you don't like me. You're scared."
She instantly retorted, "Most of my spells come from fire. Let's say fire and water don't interact well with each other. It's not fear. It's common sense."
A slight grin formed on Percy's lips. "Still means you're scared."
Surprisingly, Sheila didn't get annoyed at his insinuation. On the contrary, Percy's tone made it clear it was a simple joke, which dragged a silent laugh out of her throat. It sounded foreign in the boy's ears, but as a louder one echoed, he found it endearing. It lasted for a mere second, yet Percy's grin widened.
Clearing her throat, Sheila let the smallest of smiles rest on her lips as she spoke, "And apart from the aquarium incident?" This time, it was her turn to hesitate on her next question. "What's your mom like? From what I gathered, she sounds amazing."
Percy's heart twisted as he thought about the woman he loved more than anyone else. He could see the regret in Sheila's eyes, the girl mumbling a quick apology. It remained a sore subject, even if he knew he would get her back.
"She is," he stated, refusing to use past tense. "She makes the best blue pancakes. After my stepdad said food couldn't be blue, she made every meal blue to prove him wrong." Percy paused as if remembering every moment with her. "She did everything to protect me from... this, and now I'm going to do the same."
His loyalty and love for his mother were to be admired. Sheila stared at him with empathy. Her judgement toward him might have been wrong. His insufferable voice and resemblance to her lost brother prevented Sheila from seeing a boy living a regular life until the gods ruined it. Percy only wished to save his mother.
"My mom was amazing, too," Sheila whispered as Percy's eyes immediately snapped toward her contorting features. If he could open up about a sore subject, she could, too. "I know what it feels like to lose a mom. I hate to promise something I can't guarantee, but I promise you'll see her again. You still have a chance at having a functional family. We'll bring her back."
Percy's cheeks warmed up. She sounded sincere, and that was enough for him to believe her. "I trust you'll have a plan, Butterfly."
Sheila fought a grin. "You asked enough questions. Go to sleep, Sharkboy."
And so Percy left Sheila alone with the shadows, a little more relieved than when they departed from Camp Half-Blood.
. • ° ✧ . • °
"You will help me rise, girl. Ignore those gods and complete the pro —"
The shadows evaporated as Sheila sat up straight in her makeshift bed. Her chest heaved up and down, her mind in a daze. Images of a bottomless pit mixed with the clearing stained by humans, the girl trying to comprehend whether this was reality or an illusion from her brain. Only when Annabeth smiled at her did Sheila understand it was another trick disguised as a nightmare.
She was standing over a pit, Percy far away before her. They had been there before, but neither could remember how. Both had tried to scream for help or reach for each other, their efforts useless against the force trying to drag them down. Similarly to their previous dreams, it had tried to turn them against the gods. Spirits of the dead had surrounded the teenagers, hoping to keep them away from the force. It helped Sheila find the strength to wake up and ignore the vision of her father in the pit.
Looking at Annabeth, Sheila faked a grin and slowly walked toward her. Grover went to wake Percy, the four now awake to share nachos-flavoured corn chips as breakfast. A poodle sat close to Sheila, though she ignored it for her sake.
"And the zombies live," Annabeth commented.
A trembling Percy asked, "How long was I asleep?"
"Long enough for me to cook breakfast," Annabeth responded, tossing him a bag of chips. "And Grover went exploring. Look, he found a friend."
Grover sat cross-legged on a blanket, the poodle moving to lay in his lap. Sheila gave Annabeth a look, the blonde shaking her head. The poodle yapped at Percy suspiciously, then growled at Sheila.
"No, he's not," Grover spoke. "And she's nice."
Percy blinked at the strange situation. "Are you... talking to that thing?"
The poodle seemed offended as its growls moved from Sheila to Percy. Grover looked at the latter wide-eyed, stating, "This thing is our ticket west. Be nice to him."
"You can talk to animals?" Percy asked.
Grover ignored the question. "Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy."
"Okay, I get that our parents are gods, and life is weird, but seriously?" Sheila whispered to Annabeth.
"I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," Percy declared. "Forget it."
Sheila nodded in agreement, but Annabeth wasn't having it. "Percy, I said hello to the poodle. You say hello to the poodle. Sheila, you too."
"I don't think it likes me," Sheila claimed, yet she still greeted the animal.
The poodle growled, and Percy greeted it. Grover then explained that he had come across Gladiola, the poodle, in the woods, and they had struck up a conversation. The poodle had run away from a wealthy local family, who had posted a $200 reward for its return. Gladiola didn't want to return to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover.
"How does Gladiola know about the reward?" Percy asked.
"He read the signs," Grover said. "Duh."
"Of course," Percy replied. "Silly me."
"So we turn in Gladiola," Annabeth explained in a strategic voice, "we get money, and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."
As they discussed, Sheila unwrapped the tissue around her arm to remake it. "You're — ouch — sure we can trust a poodle? I mean, no offence, Gladiola, but what if it's a trap or something?" She was wary about trusting an animal. They could sometimes be loyal to someone else.
"Not another bus," Percy voiced, as wary as Sheila.
"No," Annabeth agreed. She pointed downhill toward the train tracks Sheila had noticed while she stared at anything but her arm. "There's an Amtrak station half a mile that way. According to Gladiola, the westbound train leaves at noon."
"Yeah, still got a bad feeling," Sheila whispered.
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A/N⁓ I was initially planning on writing this chapter and the next one together, but it would be too long
I honestly loved writing about the interaction between Percy and Sheila, because damn she needed to open up to someone at some point. However, it doesn't mean she and Percy will immediately become friends as this is a long SLOWBURN. I also hope Percy isn't too ooc
their development is cute, though, I promise
I hope you all love reading this story as much as I love writing it, and you can always leave your thoughts in the comments, as you wish
have a good day everyone! ;)
-voidheda