Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.
If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is this: stop reading this right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal lunacy-free life as possible.
Being a half-blood is a lot of things but above all else it's dangerous and terrifying, and most of the time it gets you killed in various painful and nasty ways.
If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's simple fantasy, great. Go ahead and read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of what you're about to read ever happened.
But if you recognize yourself in these paragraphs - if you feel something stirring inside you - stop reading immediately.
You just might be one of us.
And once you know that, it'll be only a matter of time before they know it too, and they will come for you like they came for me.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
My name is Percy Jackson.
As of now I'm a simple thirteen year old, and, up until a few months ago, I was a boarding student attending Yancy Academy. Which is a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.
Am I a troubled kid?
Well, yes. You could say that.
I could start at any point in my short but miserable life to prove it, but things really started going from bad to worse last May when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan - a total of twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers (whose sanity could be considered questionable for choosing to teach at Yancy as opposed to literally any other school) on a standard yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman art pieces.
I know, I know - it must sound like absolute torture. Most of the Yancy Academy field trips were.
But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was the one leading this particular trip so I had some hope. Not a lot, but still some hope.
Mr. Brunner was a middle-aged man in a modified wheelchair. He had thinning hair, a scruffy beard, and a frayed tweed jacket that always smelled like fresh coffee. At first glance you wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told great stories and even let us play games in class. He also had a collection of Roman armor and weapons (I wasn't sure how he had them or why he wasn't reprimanded for leaving them within reach of the curious and kleptomaniac hands of twelve to thirteen and fourteen year olds) so his was one of the few classes that didn't immediately put me into Hypnos' and his brother's domains without even trying so his class was easily my favorite.
I hoped that this trip would be okay. Or at the very least I wouldn't end up in trouble for one reason or other again.
Boy, was I wrong.
For a little context let me tell you something: bad things always happen to me on field trips. It was a simple fact of life by now, like cigarettes smelled and tasted awful, or Christmas fruitcakes from the supermarket tasted stale even if they were fresh-ish, or Zeus was the undisputed King of Primadonas and Tempertantrums everywhere.
Need some proof, well here you go: during my fifth-grade field trip to the Saratoga battlefield there was a tiny accident between me and a Revolutionary War cannon that apparently disliked me enough to launch a cannonball at the innocent school bus that had taken us there, dispite the fact I A) never touched or lit the fuse, and B) there supposedly wasn't a cannonball in the darn thing in the first place. I, of course, was expelled for it anyways.
Before that little mishap during my fourth-grade school field trip to Marine World we had been taking a behid-the-scenes tour of their shark pool when I had evidently hit a wrong lever in true Kronk Fashion™ which ended up with our entire class taking an unexpected swim with the fishes. This was dispite the fact I made sure to stand as far from the levers as possible I was still blamed and subsequently expelled.
As Yzma would say: "Wrong Lever!!!!"
Get the picture now? Good.
Also sidenote: I told that story to my big brother once and he then proceeded to spend an entire five minutes laughing at me and my misfortune.
I was distinctly not amused.
Luckily for him, he quickly made it up to me by buying me a jumbo blue-raspberry Icee.
What was I saying? Oh yeah, my field trip! This trip I was determined to best this apparent curse I had on my school field trips and not give a reason for expulsion. Even if I wanted to fling myself from the cliffs into the Aegean Sea or walk into the middle of traffic in New York City - either option was fine with me at that moment in time.
The entire drive there I somehow managed to put up with Nancy Bobofit, a freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl who'd kept herself entertained throughout the ride by hitting my best friend, Grover Underwood, in the back of the head with torn chunks of her peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich (gag).
Grover was, unfortunately, an easy target by societal standards. He was scrawny, cried when he got frustrated (which - totally relatable), must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth-grader with both acne and the start of a whispy beard on his chin, and on top of all of that, he was crippled. He had a note that excused him from P.E. for the rest of his life because of the muscular disease he had in his legs. Whenever he walked it was like he was walking bear-foot on Legos and broken glass, don't let that fool you though, there was none faster than he whenever it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.
Anyway, Nancy had been throwing chunks of her abomination-of-a-sandwich at him the entire time and whenever she hit her target it got stuck in his curly brown hair. Every time I turned to glare at her she would just give me this sick self-satisfied smirk because she knew I couldn't do much of anything as I was already on probation for punching (and subsequently breaking said idiot's nose) another student in the face for picking on Grover. The Dean had already threatened me with the dreaded death-by-in-school-suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.
What a buzzkill.
"I'm going to skin her, scrub her with sea salt, and then kill her with a rusted spoon." I muttered.
Grover tried (in vain) to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter." This, of course, was said as he dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch-turned-projectile.
"Yeah, so do I, but in your hair?" I asked him incredulously as he dodged yet another piece of Nancy's abomination-of-a-lunch.
The joke was ultimately on her, all she was doing was wasting her own food and buying herself a one-way ticket to meeting the business end of my fist. "That's it." I started to get up, but Grover quickly pulled me back to my seat.
"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens." Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right in her stupid, freckly, smug face then and there. The in-school suspension was nothing compared to finally being introduced to the dangers and responsibilities that came with being a Demigod.
════ ⋆ʚ⎈ɞ⋆ ════
Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.
He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.
It always amazed me that all these things survived as well as they did for after more than three thousand years.
He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on top, and started telling us about how it once served as a grave marker, or stele, for a girl around our age and told us about the carvings on the sides. And I was genuinely doing my best to take in all the information because I was actually very interested and also because I sort of needed this stuff to y'know survive but that was rather difficult to do seeing as everyone else around me just wouldn't. Shut. Up.
As you've probably guessed, every time I tried to get them to stop they wouldn't and then our other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye and the cycle would continue.
Mrs. Dodds was this little(and that’s saying something considering I'm five foot three) math teacher that hailed from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket and looked mean enough to ride a Harley into your locker despite the fact she was fifty-something years old. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year after our previous math teacher had a nervous breakdown and quit.
I would too if I taught math for a living.
From the first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and evidently decided I was devil spawn. Pretty ironic because technically he's my uncle. It honestly astounded me how one little old lady could hold so much spite for one person who had never even spoke to her before. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, Honey," real sweet - or what she probably thought was sweet. I personally thought it gave off weird vibes and it only served to creep me out. Nevertheless, she would say that and I just knew that I was in for a free trip to after-school detention for a month.
One time, after she'd made me erase answers from old math workbooks until midnight I told Grover that I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was anything remotely human. Which frankly, given my luck was very likely. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."
I didn't quite know what to make of that answer but I decided to file that away for later(Spoiler: I forgot about it - thanks ADHD).
Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art. Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you just shut up? Some of us are trying to learn here."
It rather unfortunately came out louder than I had meant it to. As it always does.
The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story to look at me, "Miss Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"
My face was beet red and I clenched my fists to keep myself from strangling Nancy Bobofit until her face was as red as her hair. I said in as calm a voice as I could manage, "No, sir."
Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"
Wow, thank you so much for putting me on the spot Mr. Brunner, but challenge accepted nonetheless.
I looked at the carving and felt a smile make its way onto my face because I definitely knew the answer to this one - it was kind of hard not to given this was one of my favorite myths. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?" Yup. No doubt about it, that was my paternal grandfather alright. Dear old Gramps, just doing his grandfatherly things, like eating his kids.
"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."
Okay, if he wanted a 'nerd' response he could've just asked. He didn't have to dance around. Sheesh.
The others sniggered around me, likely expecting me to not have an answer but they were in for a rude awakening.
"Well, he did it because he was the then-head honcho - the King of the Titans - and was afraid his children would overthrow him the same way he did his own father," I paused for a breath, "because before slicing him into pieces, Ouranos cursed, or prophesied depending on who you ask, Kronos to suffer the same fate he did. So, in order to prevent that, he would swallow his kids after they were born, but his sister-wife, Rhea, hid Zeus from him and instead tricked him into eating a blanket-covered rock so he wouldn't wonder why kid number six was missing. Later on, when Zeus had grown up, he talked his way into becoming the cup-bearer for his father and fed him a mixture of mustard and the predecessor to wine which was crafted by a nymph named Metis. Which in turn, caused Kronos to vomit up his other five children -" it was around here one of the girls behind me cringed said Eeew! "- who had been aging completely undigested in his stomach. After that came the war between the Titans and the Gods, called the Titanomachy, in which what would become to be known as the 'elder six' gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own weapon, a sickle - or scythe depending on who's telling the story - made of pure adamant, and then proceeded to throw his now many pieces into Tartarus."
Safe to say that Mr. Brunner was equal parts shocked and impressed.
Behind me, Nancy mumbled to one of her air-headed friends, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's gonna say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids?'"
Upon hearing this I turned and shot her a look of utter contempt, "What decent-paying, self-respecting job is gonna so much as give you the time of day anyway Bobofit." I scoffed. Nancy turned atomic tomato red, and opened her mouth to retort but Mr. Brunner cut her off sending me a scolding look. "And why, Miss Jackson," Mr. Brunner asked, his eyes glittering with mirth and something else I couldn't place, "to rephrase Ms. Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
"Hah. Busted," Grover muttered, but, with the silence of the museum, the whole group heard him anyways.
"Shut up!" Nancy hissed at him, her face now several shades brighter than her wild, rustic hair - something I honestly didn't think was possible.
Well, at least Carrot-Top got what was coming to her, I thought with no small amount of glee. Mr. Brunner really was the only adult who ever caught her saying or doing anything wrong. He must've had bat ears and hawk eyes or something like that.
I thought about his question before I answered, "To not let history repeat itself? It matters because it makes us learn from our mistakes."
"Would you elaborate on that?"
"Well… Kronos was so paranoid that his children would end up trying to overthrow him like he did his father, that he tried to prevent that by swallowing them. But by doing so, he really just sealed his fate. Had he raised them and loved them as any parent should none of his children would've likely felt the need to overthrow him - but he didn't and therefore, in his efforts to prevent it, he only made history repeat itself."
"Excellent answer Miss Jackson, full credit." Mr. Brunner said, "On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"
I didn't understand how talking about patricide and cannibalism was a 'happy note' but to each their own I guess. Maybe Mr. Brunner just had some weird kinks, who am I to judge?
The group drifted off; most girls were holding their stomachs and the guys were pushing each other around and are pretty much acting like doofuses.
Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner's voice reached us. "Miss Jackson."
I knew that was coming. Mr. Brunner always made it a point to have a follow-up with me after each lesson to make sure I properly grasped whatever it was we were learning that day.
Which I did. Every time. Thanks for asking.
I told Grover to keep going. Then, I turned to Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"
"I'm very proud of you Percy," He said.
Now I don't know about you, but when somebody I see as a sort-of sudo-father figure says they're proud of me, I start tearing up. I guess it's a result of growing up without a father physically present in my life, but who's to say?
Sorry Dad. Still love you.
"Thank you, sir," I replied cheerily.
"What you learn from me," He continued on, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Persephoneia Jackson."
I understood that as a teacher, he just wanted me to do well, and I was already doing better than expected when you take into account my ADHD and dyslexia (B- average in case you were wondering). It was especially cool on tournament days when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their parents, and what god they primarily worshiped. Most oftentimes I didn't have such a hard time with memorizing, but the spelling? Forget it.
Either way, I knew he just wanted what was best for me and it also had the added benefit of preparing me for demigod life (whether he meant for it to or not). So I did the safe thing and said, "I know sir. I'll do my best."
Mr. Brunner gave me a small nod and then gave one long sad look at the stele like he’d been at the girl's funeral.
He told me to go outside and eat my lunch to which I readily agreed. I didn’t want to be inside longer than I had to be.
════ ⋆ʚ⎈ɞ⋆ ════
Outside, the class had gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the traffic as they moved along Fifth Avenue.
Overhead, a pretty large storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured either the world was finally ending or Zeus was majorly pissed at something because the weather all across New York State had been weird as hell since Christmas. We've had massive snow storms, flooding, and even wildfires from various lightning strikes. I wouldn't be surprised if this was in actuality a hurricane blowing in. The funny thing was, though the clouds were as black as night, yet there wasn't a single lightning bolt to be seen streaking through the sky.
Pretty weird, huh? I'm sure it's nothing.
And, unfortunately, nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the dumber guys were pelting pigeons with pieces of Lunchables crackers. Klepto Girl was honed in on some poor lady's purse - trying to pickpocket something from said lady's purse, the keyword here being trying, and Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing anything wrong with her precious little angel.
Taking a page from Ebenezer Scrooge here: "Bah, humbug!"
Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, as far away from the others as we could get. We thought that if we did that, everybody else wouldn't know we were from the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it anywhere else.
"What did Mr. Brunner want this time?" Grover asked.
"The usual." I shrugged, "He just told me that he was proud of me and that I needed to take whatever I learned from him seriously."
Like I needed to be told. I knew very well how dangerous the world was for people like me.
Grover stayed quiet for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to potentially aid me in my journey of life, he said, "Can I have your apple?"
I chuckled a little under my breath and handed him my apple.
As he ate my apple, I thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. Call me a Mommy's Girl or whatever, but I miss her. I so desperately wanted to take a cab and head home. But I won't. Because she'd hug me and say she misses me too but she'll be disappointed with me to. She'll ship me off here again, saying that I had to try harder to pass sixth grade, even though I had never lasted a complete year in any school I had attended. And, the worst part was, I'd comply because I wouldn't be able to stand the sorrowful look she would give me.
When I managed to shake off my reverie, I found that Mr. Brunner had parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He was nibbling on some celery while he was reading a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up behind his chair, making it look like one of those café tables minus the table.
I was about to unwrap my sandwich when the Bane of My Existence showed up, complete with her posse – I guess she'd gotten tired of failing to steal from tourists – and what do you know, the uncivilized bitch dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.
"Oops." She grinned at me unrepentantly with her crooked teeth, her freckles looking like someone spray-painted her face with Cheeto dust.
I tried to stay cool. I mean, I even did the whole 'count to ten in all the languages you know' trick (the answer is four by the way). Still, my mind went blank as I heard an angry wave roar in my ears.
I really don't remember touching her, but the next thing I was aware about was Nancy sitting inside the pool for the fountain, screaming her head off like she was being tortured in the Fields of Punishment, "Percy pushed me!"
Mrs. Dodds suddenly appeared out of thin air beside us. I seriously didn't understand how she got there so fast when she was on the other side of the stairs – unless she was a monster, then that would be really bad for me – but I was too preoccupied with what was going on to really think about it.
Vaguely I heard some of the kids whispering: "Did you see-"
"-the water-"
"-like it grabbed her-"
I really had no idea what they were mumbling about. They sounded like a bunch of weirdos, but that didn't matter to me at the moment. All I knew was that I was in trouble, again. I didn’t even have time to properly process the fact that I had controlled the water. All I knew was that with Mrs. Dodds there, I was in deep shit all over again.
As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little angelic Nancy was okay, even going so far as to promise her a new shirt from the museum gift shop (I swear, it's like Nancy's Mrs. Dodds long lost granddaughter or some shit and wasn't that a revolting thought?) Anyways, when she finished with the dumb spluttering girl, she turned on me with her eyes screaming victory, though I seriously don't know over what. "Now, honey-"
I shuddered, gods, I hated when she called me that.
"I know," I grumbled, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "A month erasing workbooks."
Later on, while having a chat with a certain cousin of mine who's really into the whole 'causing trouble' thing, if you know what I mean, said that there's a particular unspoken rule that says: "Never guess one's punishment, for it will lead to an even worse punishment than the one you guessed." Truer words of wisdom have never been spoken, I say.
Mrs. Dodds (rather predictably) didn't look impressed with my answer. "Come with me," she said.
"Wait!" Grover suddenly yelped. "It was me! I pushed her!"
I stared at him, stunned. I mean, he was terrified of Mrs. Dodds. She scared him to metaphorical and almost literal death. I knew he saw me as his best friend and all, but I never knew he could be brave enough to face someone who terrified him that much. Okay, I admit, that was a really bad thing to think about your best friend, but hey, if it makes up for it, he redeemed himself (in my opinion) from that moment on.
She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.
"I don't think so Mr. Underwood," she said, her voice low, almost growling.
"But -" Wow. Grover really redeemed himself. If he was my type, I'd totally kiss him. As it was, no thanks.
"You will stay here."
Grover looked at me desperately. I didn't have to be a genius to realize that this was about to be a lot worse than normal.
Still. If there was something I could do to lessen my punishment, I'd do it.
"It's okay, Grove," I told him, trying to sound comforting. "Thanks for trying though."
"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now." Sheesh. Could she already drop the 'honey' thing? I certainly wasn't one of the ones dumb enough to buy her bullshit so why even bother?
The Bane of My Existence smirked like she'd just won the lottery.
I narrowed my eyes warningly and gave her my I'll-fillet-you-alive stare, and in one of her rare moments of common sense she quickly looked away. Trust me on this, when I'm well and truly mad there are very few in this world that can hold my eyes for longer than a second without looking anywhere else. Even my mom says that I'd never get a boyfriend or girlfriend because apparently I'm too unapproachable with my stare. Hey, what can I say? It isn't my fault all the boys that try to ask me out are dumber than an empty seashell and the girls are all mean-girls with only slightly better IQ than the aforementioned boys.
Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but creepily enough, she wasn't there. I looked around and found her standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to hurry - and here I thought I was the one that had issues with waiting.
Dang, for an older lady she sure moves fast, I thought absentmindedly.
Many doctors and teachers say that memory lapse was normal for people with ADHD. They say that your brain takes too much information and needs to shut down for a bit before resuming. That's why sometimes, it seems like the universe suddenly moved forward a few moments faster.
My humble opinion? That was a load of medical bullshit. My best guess was that this had to do with being a demigod but as the specifics of what being a demigod actually entails were never fully explained to me, therefore I had no idea. Triton had tried his best to prepare me (within what was safe for us both to do obviously), but he had no actual experience with being a demigod (for obvious reasons). He could never know what it actually felt like.
With my opinion given, I went after Mrs. Dodds. Albeit very reluctantly.
Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He looked like he saw a ghost. He was cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice the situation. Alas, my favorite teacher was absorbed in his paperback. I couldn't read the book 'coz my dyslexia acted up too much, so for me it read 'Teh Osedyys'. (I would later learn that he was reading The Odyssey)
I got this very bad feeling that my worst assumptions about what was about to happen weren't even close to the reality of it.
Sighing, I looked up. Amazingly, Mrs. Dodds had vanished again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall. Wow. I mean, was she like, a ninja or something? How'd she move so fast?
And why the heck are we going inside the museum? Is she actually going to make me buy a new t-shirt for Nancy? I mean, how spoiled could you get? I really think she's her great-granddaughter or something now. Eww. Excuse me while I go get sick.
And apparently, that wasn't the plan, 'cause she just went deeper into the museum, stopping at the gallery of Greek and Roman stuff. And, lo and behold, we were the only ones there.
Red flags flashing for anyone else?
Mrs. Dodds faced me with crossed arms in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek Gods, and, to make it worse, she was making this sound that was scarily close to growling.
Yeah. This was about to be extremely bad. I brought my hand up to nervously fiddle with the gold sand dollar necklace (that matched the silver one worn around his own neck) my brother had gifted me what felt like a lifetime ago.
If she was a monster then I was done for. I had no weapon near or on me whatsoever. Triton once told me that my necklace contained immense protective power beyond the obvious ability to turn into a trident, but as all gods tend to do (or so I've been told), he didn't tell me how access or use said power. It's like they just expected us to know these things. How the hell am I supposed to know how to use things if people don't explain it to me!? Things like this should come with instruction manuals for a reason!
Mrs. Dodds was still making this weird noise in her throat which I could now safely confirm was in fact growling.
Definitely a monster then. Putain. Putain. Putain!
"You've been giving us problems, honey," she growled, keeping one eye on the frieze and the other on me. And trust me, the way she was eyeing us both, wish I could've just gone with my instincts and run home.
If she called me ‘honey’ one more godsbedamned time–
I decided to go with the safe option. "Yes, Ma'am," I said quietly, inching ever so slowly for the door. She loosened her cuffs, "Did you really think you could get away with it?" She asked and looked at me with a look in her eyes that went beyond mad. It was evil. Which gave me a few guesses as to what kind of monster she was.
If she had been a normal teacher I wouldn’t have been worried that she was going to hurt me. But the problem was that she wasn't a normal teacher. Thus the possibility of her hurting me was very high.
I said, "I'll - I'll try harder, ma'am."
Thunder shook the building.
Shit, it is Zeus who’s pissed. This is not going to turn out well for me at all…
"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
I didn't know what she was talking about exactly. Somehow I just knew she wasn't talking about me confessing to being a demigod. Even if she was, I wouldn't have confessed anyway. Triton told me to wait until the right time and this sure as hell didn't feel like the right time. Granted, there might never be a ‘right time’ but a girl can dream.
Now that I think about it, Triton told me a lot of information that I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do with. I guess he's succeeding at his job as an older brother: making my life difficult.
All I could think about, other than the obvious demigod thing, was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room to make a little extra cash. Or maybe they'd realized I didn't actually do my entire essay on Tom Sawyer by myself and were going to force me to redo it. Or worse yet, they were going to make me reread the book.
That would definitely suck for me. I only got by the first time because I had Grover read it to me, I didn't want to have to ask him to do it again.
"Well?" she demanded.
"Ma'am, I don't…"
"Your time is up," she hissed.
Um, how rude. She didn't even give me time to come up with a decent lie!
And then, right before my very eyes, her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. Well, I guess now I had my confirmation of the fact that she isn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs – A Fury holy shit – and she was about to slice me to ribbons.
Mrs. Dodds gave an unearthly shriek and flew towards me in breakneck speed.
I'm so dead.
Then, something even stranger (I genuinely didn't think it was possible at the time) happened. Mrs. Dodds stopped in midair, snarling at something behind me. When I turned to look, Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, with Grover in tow. He threw something at me, shouting at me. "Uncap it, Percy!"
When I caught it, I looked at it incredulously. It was Mr. Brunner's pen. What was I supposed to do with a freakin' pen? Wait. He said to uncap it, right?
When I uncapped it, it shimmered and elongated, turning into a wickedly sharp bronze sword. It was the same sword Mr. Brunner always uses in his tournaments.
Good to know he was always prepared. I thought semi-hysterically.
Mrs. Dodds, or whichever of the three furies she was, spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes. "Die, honey!" She said, flying straight towards me.
Is she serious right now? She's trying to kill me and still calling me 'honey'?
Listen. Knowing you're a demigod is not the same as actually experiencing the realities of it. This was my first real fight against a monster, so cut me some slack.
Ok.... My knees were shaking so bad I wouldn't be surprised if the gave out beneath me. I genuinely thought I was going to be sick. Absolute terror was running rampant through my body but also insane amounts of anger. This lady had spent half the year torturing me, terrorizing my friend, and overall making my life absolutely miserable. So I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.
HISS.
The sword hit Mrs. Dodds in the waist, and immediately, she turned into golden dust, raining over me like someone threw one of those glitter bombs in front of me. And yet, I still felt her eyes glaring at me, saying that this wasn't the last time I'd see her. I shivered.
Well. Look at the bright side, at least she wouldn't be calling me 'honey' anytime soon.
When I turned to face Mr. Brunner and Grover, I found the doorway empty, no sign that they were even there. I looked at the sword in my hand, faintly glowing in the dim lights of the museum.
With resolve, I put the cap of the pen at the tip of the sword, watching as it shimmered back into an innocent and ordinary looking ballpoint pen.
My hands were still trembling. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I could feel that my body had been shaking out of pure fear. I guess you're never really prepared for your first monster encounter.
I stuck the pen into my pocket and went back outside. I was tempted to hold onto it but I didn't want to in case there were any additional monsters nearby and they knew what it was. I still clutched it with a vice-like grip as I strode outside in search of a fucking explanation.
It had started to rain by the time I came back out. Maybe neither Zeus nor Poseidon were mad, maybe they both were. I probably had at least a few more hours to live then… Joy.
Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head to shield it from the rain. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."
I had other, more important, things on my mind besides her questionable choice of standing there in the middle of the courtyard like a dumbass. Like, finding out who the hell Mrs. Kerr was.
I said, "Who?"
"Our teacher. Duh!"
I blinked. Last I checked we had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.
Instead of answering me like a normal civilized person would, she just rolled her eyes and turned away.
I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.
He said, "Who?"
But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so at first I thought he was just messing with me.
"Not funny, dude," I told him and punched his shoulder. Grover was usually a terrible liar and most of the time I was okay with it but now he was trying to lie to me. His best friend. "This is serious."
Thunder boomed overhead. Oh.
I looked around and saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.
I went over to him cautiously. If he lied to me then something was definitely going on and I'd have to adapt accordingly.
He looked up, a little distracted, "Ah, you wouldn't have happened to see a ballpoint pen lying around now would you Miss Jackson? I seem to have lost mine."
Sure he did. He just so happened to own a ballpoint pen that turned into a monster-killing sword. I didn't buy it for a second. He definitely knew. Now I just had to figure out if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, he could be here to help me. On the other, he could just be biding his time, not wanting to draw negative attention toward himself so soon after Mrs. Dodds' failed attack.
"No sir," I lied, making my tone sound faux apologetic, "But if I do I'll be sure to let you know."
He nodded though it looked like he was struggling to believe me.
"Sir," I said, trying my luck even though I somehow knew he wouldn't answer me honestly, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"
He stared at me blankly. "Who?"
I guess that settles that then.
"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The math teacher."
He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned but I could see right through his act. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?"
I fought to keep the sneer from my face. "I see," I said, pursing my lips.
If they wanted to gaslight me instead of telling me the truth then fucking fine - two could play this damn game.