Imagine all the cheesiest entertainment centres from the 1990s got together and had a food baby. That was Hebe Jeebies. Rows of Skee-Ball machines stood ready for action. A dozen Dance Dance Revolution platforms blinked and flashed, inviting people to boogie. Aisles with every arcade game you could ever hear of, and dozens that you'd never heard of, lined the vast, dimly lit warehouse, making the whole place a glowing labyrinth - which was not a term that the four of them used lightly. In the distance, there was a candy station with fill-your-own-bag dispensers and huge bins of sweet colourful stuff. It was a stomachache waiting to happen. On the other side of the warehouse was a cafeteria with picnic tables and a stage where robotic iguanas played musical instruments. There was a ball pit the size of a house, a climbing structure that looked like a giant hamster habitat, a bumper car course, and a ticket exchange station with oversized stuffed animals for prizes. The whole place smelled of pizza, pretzels, and industrial cleaner. And it was packed with families.
"I get it now," said Annabeth, shivering. "This place does give me the heebie-jeebies."
"I've been here a few times." Grover's expression was a combination of anxiety and hunger . . . which, come to think of it, was his usual expression. "I've never found the other end of the place."
Cressida's jaw dropped and for good reason. She gripped Percy's hand tighter. "So, you're telling me that you brought us in this...Lotus Casino - Labyrinth hybrid, with no clue what we're facing, no backup and no clue where to find what we're looking for?!"
"Yep," Grover bleated nervously.
"Talk about every damn quest of our entire life," Cressida huffed.
"OH! I'm getting the Lotus Casino vibes now," Percy commented. "You know, like low-rent Lotus Casino, but still-"
"Seaweed Brain, at least try and keep up," Annabeth said tiredly.
"It's not a trap," Grover insisted. "At least, I've never had any trouble leaving. These families . . . they come and go. They don't seem to be stuck in time."
He did have a point. None of them spotted any people with bell-bottoms or 1950s haircuts, which was definitely a good sign. They even watched several families walk out of the building with no problem.
"Then...what's the catch?" Annabeth asked. "There's always a catch."
"I don't know," Grover admitted. "I usually just get liquorice and leave. I keep a low profile."
"And you're sure Hebe is here?" Percy questioned,
"No, but . . ." Grover wriggled his shoulders. "You know that feeling you get when there's a god around and you can't see them, but you kind of feel like there's a swarm of dung beetles on the back of your neck?"
"Not exactly . . ." Percy answered.
"No," Cressida said bluntly.
"Also," said Annabeth, "dung beetles is oddly specific."
Grover brushed the metaphorical poop bugs off his neck. "Anyway, I've got that feeling now. We could ask the staff if Hebe's around. If we can find someone."
They began moving into the arcade, Percy and Cressida's grip on each other iron-tight as they kept their other hands ready to draw their weapons if need be.
"Oh, my gods," Annabeth said after a time. "Stackers. I haven't played that since..." Her thoughts seemed to drift away. She'd been at Camp Half-Blood since she was seven years old, so she must have been reliving a really early memory. It made sense to me that she would like a game where you had to place one block on top of another. She was all about building and architecture.
It was at the candy section that Percy had his own pang of nostalgia as he was reminded of his mom's old workplace, Sweet on America. He used to go there and watch her work and yes, it didn't pay much, but Percy always saw his mother make people smile and that they always left happy and it just made her seem like a superhero for a lot of reasons.
Grover was sniffing at the liquorice ropes when Percy said a group of adults walked past, giggly and teary-eyed, reminiscing about their favourite treats and games from back in the day.
"It's a nostalgia trap," Percy realised. "The place is selling people their own childhoods."
"Then I guess it's a good thing that I had a pretty crappy childhood. Asides from reminding me of that date you took me on for my birthday after Castor died, this place is freaking me out, like..."
"Dung beetles crawling on your neck?" Grover supplied and Cressida gave him a strange look.
"Exactly like that."
While his girlfriend was talking about dung beetles, Percy couldn't stop thinking about what she said. He knew that he couldn't change her past, that her past made her who she was and he loved who she was, but he just wished he could take away her pain. Someone as incredible and amazing as Cressida didn't deserve to go through so much pain at such a young age. He also wasn't ashamed to admit that the thought of her past made him equal parts sad and angry. Sad at the thought of her in pain and angry that he couldn't do anything about it.
His grip on her hand got tighter, if that was even possible, as he moved closer, trying to fit her body next to his in that one spot where everything just felt right.
Annabeth's gaze drifted around the amusement centre like she was scanning for threats. "That makes sense, but a lot of places sell nostalgia. It's not necessarily a bad thing. . . ."
An employee walked past wearing a bright blue Hebe Jeebies polo shirt and matching shorts, fussing with a wheel of paper prize tickets.
"Excuse me, miss?" Annabeth touched her arm, and the employee jumped.
"What?" she snapped and they realised that she was just a kid. She had wiry black hair with pink barrettes, a pouty baby face, and a name tag that read SPARKY, MANAGER. She couldn't have been more than nine years old.
"Sorry." Sparky took a breath. "The token machine is broken again, and I gotta get these tickets to . . . Anyway, how can I help?"
"We're looking for Hebe?" Percy said but it came out as more of a question.
"If this is about a refund for a defective game -"
"It's not," he answered.
"Or the pizza being mouldy -"
"It's not. Also, yuck."
"Depends on the mould," Grover murmured.
"Yuck," Cressida remarked.
"We just need to speak to the goddess in charge," Annabeth said. "It's kind of urgent."
Sparky scowled, then relented. "Past the diving cliff; left at the henhouse."
"Diving cliff?" Percy asked.
"Henhouse?" asked Grover.
"She'll be in the karaoke bar." Sparky wrinkled her nose like this was an unpleasant fact of life. "Don't worry. You'll hear it." She hurried off with her wheel o' prize tickets.
Percy glanced at his companions. "Are we really going to search out a karaoke bar . . . like, on purpose?"
"Come on," Cressida encouraged as she began to tug him along. "We can duet 'Lover'. I know it's your favourite Taylor Swift song."
"Ok, first, you don't want to hear me sing. And second, my favourite T-Swift song is not 'Lover!' It's 'Enchanted'. Get it right," Percy corrected.
"Oh, right. The song that you were absolutely obsessed with before we started dating and you prayed that I wasn't in love with someone else, that I didn't have someone else waiting on me," she teased and Percy narrowed his eyes at her.
"Don't act like you didn't find it romantic. And you're none the better. I saw your iPod playlist labelled P with a heart next to it. It's all songs about love and pining. And it was made before we started dating!"
"Guess we were made for each other, huh?" she grinned as she stopped walking and her arms wrapped around his neck as his went for her waist.
"Damn straight, Wine Vine," he said before he kissed her.
"Just keep walking," Annabeth said to Grover as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him along. "No good comes from interrupting their moments."
She was right.
They eventually found the diving cliff: a two-story wall of fake rock where you could jump off into a suspiciously murky pool of water. A couple of kids were doing it on a loop, splashing down, clambering out, and racing back up to the top, while their parents stood nearby, engrossed in a game of Space Invaders.
Percy made a note of the water source in case he needed it later. He liked to say that he was a guy of limited talents. If he couldn't kill it with water, a sword, or sarcasm, he was basically defenceless. Obviously, that was only in situations when Cressida wasn't around. And they were Styx-sworn to each other and madly (emphasis on mad) in love with each other - she was always around.
They passed the henhouse. Which was an actual hen house. Right in the middle of the arcade stood a red shack on stilts, surrounded by a chicken-wire fence. On the floor around it, about a dozen hens and some little yellow chicks were pecking at feed, clucking, and basically being chickens.
"Why?" Percy asked.
"Hebe's sacred animal," Annabeth answered. "Maybe we should move along."
Percy agreed with the way the chickens were staring at them with their beady black eyes. "Can you control them if it came down to it?" he whispered to Cressida and she shrugged.
"They're godly pets. I won't know how strong they are until I try. But I think the little baby ones should be fine."
"Well that's a good sign," he said sarcastically.
She elbowed his chest.
"Sorry."
Finally, they found the karaoke bar. It was partitioned off from the rest of the amusement centre by a set of sliding mahogany doors, but that didn't stop the music from seeping through. Inside, half a dozen tables faced a sad little stage, where a squad of old folks belted out a song that sounded vaguely Woodstock-ish. The stage lights pulsed a sickly yellow colour. The sound system crackled. That didn't seem to bother the boomers, who threw their arms around one another and waved their canes, their bald heads gleaming as they wailed about peace and sunshine.
"Can we leave now?" Grover asked.
Annabeth pointed to a booth against the far wall. "Look over there."
Sitting in the booth, tapping her feet to the music, was a girl about their age. At least, that's what she appeared to be. But they could tell she was a goddess because immortals always make themselves a little too flawless when they appear in human form: perfect complexion, hair always photoshoot ready, clothes far too crisp and colourful for mere mortals.
(Percy would like it on the record that he stands by what he said on Governor's Island. He's totally cool with the goddess he's got).
The girl in the booth wore a pink-and-turquoise minidress with white go-go boots but somehow managed to make it look hip and not like a retro Halloween costume. Her hair was a dark beehive swirl. It occurred to me she was channelling a fashion that would remind the boomers of their own childhoods
"Lady Hebe?" Percy greeted.
The goddess raised a finger to silence him, her eyes still fixed on the geriatric singers. "Don't they seem happy? So young again!"
"Um, yeah," Percy said. "We were just wondering -"
"Please, sit." The goddess waved her hand, and three chairs appeared on the outside of the booth. Then Hebe issued one of the most terrifying threats they had ever heard from a god: "I'll order us some pizza, and we can talk while the old folks sing protest songs."
********************************
While the others were drawn into memories of nostalgia, Cressida simply ate her pizza, the mystical arcade unable to draw her into its trap. It tried to though. There was a moment when she was drawn to a game. An arcade version of Pinochle. And she was brought back to all the memories that she'd had of the nights she'd spent with her father and brothers playing the game. The way they used to let her win before she became a god at the game; unbeatable. But then she remembered the empty way the room felt when Castor died. When the three of them had just sat in silence and mourned his loss. And yes, once her family warmed up to Percy and taught him how to play, he took Castor's spot and their pinochle nights actually became fun again and a way to honour his memory. But now, she couldn't focus on that. She had to stay focused on Castor and how it felt to lose him or else she would also become a victim to this place.
"What a fabulous generation," Hebe said, admiring the geriatric singers. "Even now, they refuse to accept growing old." She turned to me. "And you, Percy Jackson, I assume you've come to ask a favour. Perhaps you're starting to regret turning down immortality?"
"Seeing as you weren't present on Mount Olympus when it happened," Cressida began, cutting off Percy from busting out with sarcasm - but it also probably wasn't a good thing because while Percy came pre-loaded with sarcasm, Cressida had it in her blood seeing as she was the daughter of the god of theatre. "But because of the choice my boyfriend made, you finally got treated with the respect you deserve. And I got to assign your kids to the cabin that Annabeth designed. All because of him."
Percy was grateful for the neon lights that hid the raging blush on his face. That happened every time she claimed him as her boyfriend and seemed to be proud of it; boasted about it. It just made all his insides melt.
But as he melted like the wicked witch of the west in water, the others seemed nervous about the impact Cressida's words had on the goddess.
"Perhaps," Hebe said. "Still, Percy Jackson, turning down eternal youth? You can't really want to grow old. Don't you understand how terrible that will be?"
The honest answer wasn't an answer that the goddess of eternal youth would like. Percy spent most of his life wishing he could be older. Not only so he could age out of the target years when monsters were trying to kill him every other day, but so he could go to college and have the life that he wanted with the woman that he loved.
So, he went for an answer that was part the truth and part what Hebe wanted to hear.
"I mean, I guess getting older is part of life -"
"The pizza is great!" Grover exclaimed, interrupting in an attempt to save his best friend. "And the music..." He frowned at the boomers. "Wait a minute. . . . Are they actually getting younger?"
He was right. The changes were subtle, but their hair didn't seem so grey now. Their postures were straighter. Their voices sounded more assured, though still terrible. "They come here to remember the old days." Hebe gestured around her. "Nostalgia is the doorway back to youth. I'm just showing them how to open it."
"That's...nice of you," Grover tried but the way his voice tremored, you could tell that he wasn't liking this place anymore.
Hebe crossed her go-go boots at the ankles. She placed her arms across the back of the booth "Is that why you're here, then?" she asked. "You want to know the secret of youth? I imagine none of you really had a childhood, did you? Always running errands for the gods, fleeing monsters, adulting." Her expression soured as if that word disgusted her. "Our Skee-Ball tournament usually shaves off a year or two," she continued. "Or you can redeem tickets for various elixirs at the rewards station. I'll just warn you that if you're looking for something extreme, I don't turn anyone into babies. They do nothing but cry, poop, and throw up. The real childhood magic starts at around eight years old."
Cressida cringed. Yes, she came to Camp at the age of 7, but 8? Her 8th year of life was trying to control her powers too strong for that of an 8-year-old. Her 8th year of life was learning that no one else wanted anything to do with her because of her powers. Her 8th year of life was just as bad as her first 7. And she had no intention of returning there.
Annabeth shifted in her seat. "There were no infants in the arcade. No one younger than, like, eight. Your manager, Sparky—"
"Stays in the main arcade," Hebe said. "I am always the youngest person in any room, you see, even if it's just by a few months. I can't stand to be out-younged." She brushed away the idea, banishing it from her presence. "But I do prefer the teenage years."
"So you hang out in a karaoke bar," Percy said. "Makes sense."
Annabeth shot him a look.
"Now," she said, "if you'll tell me how young you want to be, I will tell you what it will cost."
"No," Percy said. Suddenly the air around them felt colder and oilier than the pizza.
"No?" asked the goddess.
"That's not why we're here."
Hebe's expression turned from smug to "resting goddess face," which was not a good thing. "Then why," she asked, "are you wasting my infinite time?"
"We're looking for information," Annabeth said.
"About the gods," Grover added. "A god. Hypothetically. I don't know . . . Ganymede, for example?"
And Percy wasn't the only one to want to stuff napkins in Grover's mouth to shut him up.
Hebe sat forward. Her fingernails were painted Day-Glo yellow. "Now why would you ask about him?"
The boomers finished their song. After a few high fives, they replaced their mics and shuffled offstage, heading back to the arcade. Typical boomer timing: have a blast, then leave right before everything goes sideways.
Grover squirmed under the goddess's gaze. A shred of napkin clung to his goatee like a tiny ghost. "We're just conducting a brief opinion survey —"
"He sent you here," the goddess guessed. "Tell me, why would Ganymede do that?"
Annabeth held up her hands, trying to show our peaceful intentions. "It's not so much that he sent us—"
"He has been acting nervous lately," mused Hebe. "But he wouldn't send out a group of heroes unless . . ." She smiled. "Unless he's lost something. Oh, you can't be serious. He's lost the chalice of the gods?" She laughed with such delight.
Percy shrugged. "Well we can neither confirm nor deny -"
"How wonderful!" She giggled. "That upstart little witch is in so much trouble! And he sent you to question me because . . . ?" All the humour drained from her face. "Oh, I see."
"We just wanted some background information," Percy said hastily. "You know, like who might have a reason to, uh—"
"Steal the chalice," she finished.
Annabeth shook her head. "We're not implying—"
"You think I stole it! You came here to accuse me!"
"Not entirely!" Grover yelped. "I-I came here for the liquorice."
"Oh relax," Cressida huffed as she downed a glass of lemonade. "You're going to give yourself age lines if you stress out like that. We're not here to accuse you. You used to be the cup bearer so we thought you might have information on who actually stole the cup."
Hebe gasped at first, touching her face at the mention of age lines which was definitely a smart move on Cressida's part but, unfortunately, it didn't last long as the goddess stood and her fear faded.
"Heroes accusing me of theft! The only thing I've ever stolen is time from the Fates so mortals could enjoy longer lives! I care nothing for that . . . that usurper's cup! Do you think I would want my old job back, waiting tables on Mount Olympus, when I have my own establishment right here with all the pizza, karaoke, and bumper cars I could ever desire?"
"You're right!" Percy said, stupidly trying to answer the question. "Of course that's silly. But maybe you know someone else who could've stolen it? Or if you'd let us look around so we can report back that it definitely isn't here—"
"ENOUGH!" Hebe roared. She spread her hands. "What did you say earlier, Percy Jackson? Getting older is part of life? Well, perhaps you should start that process over again. Maybe you'll do it right this time and learn some manners!"
The goddess burst into a storm of rainbow glitter that knocked them out of their chairs.
********************************
When Cressida stirred and her indigo eyes landed on her friends, the first thing she did was scramble backwards. "Oh my gods!" she gasped as she saw them.
Their clothes hung off their frames and their faces - well, they'd only ever seen their faces in pictures. Their faces were chubbier and rounder like that of them when they were eight years old.
Annabeth's eyes went wide and she let out a curse that sounded strange coming from the mouth of a third grader. "Hebe younged us."
"BLAAAAAHHHH!" Grover sat up and rubbed his head. His horns had shrunk to tiny stubs. His goatee was now a gone-tee. His fake feet and shoes had rolled away from his suddenly baby-size hooves, and his shirt was so big it looked like a nightgown. "I don't feel so good." He picked a string of cheese off his face, then looked at his hooves and moaned. "Oh, no. I don't want to be a kid again!"
Whether he meant the human kind or the goat kind didn't really matter because it had already happened.
"Whoa! Whoa! Why do you get to still be seventeen?" Percy whined as he saw his girlfriend who was unchanged.
"Benefits of being the Daughter of Dionysus, I guess."
"That is so unfair," Grover bleated as they got to their feet.
"Maybe we'll change back if we leave the building?" Percy suggested.
Annabeth stood up shakily. Doubtfully, she said, "Worth a try."
They moved back through the amusement centre and passed the chicken coop where the chickens actually looked interested in them.
One of the chicks in particular, which had pink fluff around its eyes and beak, followed them along the fence, strutting and peeping.
"Wow, rude," Grover said.
"What?"
"She's threatening to tear the flesh from our bones."
"Okay, li'l killer. Calm down. We're leaving," Percy said before suddenly, Grover rounded on him and head-butted him in the chest hard enough to push him back a step.
"Ow!" Percy complained.
"Grover!" Cressida scolded. "You keep your hands, hooves and horns to yourself, young man."
"Dude, why?" Percy asked, rubbing his chest.
"Sorry, sorry!" Grover rubbed his horns. "I—I need to play. I'm practicing social dominance in the herd." He butted Percy in the chest again.
"This is going to get old real quick," Percy said.
"Right now, I'd love to get old real quick," Annabeth said. "Let's keep going."
"Stay together kids," Cressida said. "And Grover, stay away from Percy until you grow up again."
"Stop enjoying this so much!" Percy snapped at her.
"Can't," she grinned happily. "And don't worry," she said as she pinched his cheeks. "You're still the cutest boy I've ever seen."
"I hate you!" he whined again as he pushed her hands away.
"Liar. Now keep walking, my little Baby Fish Face."
"Hate you," he repeated as he hiked up his jeans again.
As they moved though, he realised that he still had most of his faculties that Grover and Annabeth seemed to be lacking. Being able to channel his focus, control his fidgeting, keeping his power and his thoughts in check - for the most part.
Yet, when they hit Times Square again, the afternoon sunlight shining down on them, they were still little kids. Percy barely stood at Cressida's waistline.
"So, what now?" Annabeth asked, her voice tight. "We can't just . . . go home like this."
"It'll be ok, Wise Girl," Percy tried to soothe but she only scowled at him.
"You think so? then you're a dummy!" She put her palms to her temples. "Sorry, Percy . . . I—I can't think straight. I think Hebe changed more than just how we look."
Cressida's eyes lit up. "That makes sense. Papa's blood prevents anyone from tampering with my mind. If she couldn't regress my mind, she couldn't regress me. Fish Face, are you -"
"I mean, it's been a while since I've been 8 years old but I don't seem to be having any thoughts like that or anything," he answered.
"My magic isn't as strong as Papa's. It protects your head, but not your body."
"Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?" Percy blurted and she smirked at him.
"Now you love me, huh?" she grinned. "But I'm not going to be dating an 8-year-old - well, at least not physically anyway. So shall we go back inside and convince a goddess to make you all older."
"But what if she turns us into babies?!" Grover worried.
"Stop it!" Annabeth said.
"No, you stop it! Meanie!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Ok," Cressida interjected as she grabbed Annabeth by her arms and hoisted the little girl up onto her hip. "That's enough out of you both. We are not going to get anything done if you all keep fighting. Am I clear?"
"Yes," they all muttered dejectedly.
"Good," she said as she put Annabeth back down. "Now let's go."
********************************
When they walked back in, almost immediately, they ran into Sparky.
"Hi, welcome to Hebe Jeebies!" she said. "Do you know your way around?"
"We were just here. Except older," Percy said.
"That doesn't narrow it down. . . ." She looked them over more carefully. "How much older? Fifty? Eighty?"
"Seriously?" Annabeth said.
"Ok," Cressida said, stepping in. "Hi. My kids and I were just here and you helped us find Hebe at the karaoke bar. We were just wondering if Hebe was still there?"
Sparky arched her eyebrows. "What, you want to be even younger? When Hebe blesses you, you shouldn't get greedy. I'm sixty-five myself. It took me months of working here to get this young again!"
"Well, she, unfortunately, can't age me, but my kids here -"
"We don't want to be any younger," Percy insisted. "We want Hebe to put us back the way we were."
Sparky scowled. "Hold on. . . . Are you lodging an age-based complaint?"
"Well, it's just...I think there's been a misunderstanding. We'd like -"
"You'd like to complain," Sparky interrupted. " Sparky pulled a bullhorn off her belt and announced to the entire arcade, "We have an age-based complaint!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, hoots, and jeers. Many of them grinned at them in a malicious way, like they expected a good show.
"Um . . ." Percy said nervously.
"Unleash the predators!" Sparky screamed.
"Finally, something I can kill," Cressida grinned as she scanned the area for said predators.
"You're gonna jinx it! And you're not 8 years old!" Percy screamed.
"Let the chase begin!" Sparky announced.
Bells clanged. Money changed hands. A few customers speculated as to who would fall first: Percy, Cressida, Annabeth, or Grover. It didn't look like the odds were in Percy's favour and clearly his girlfriend was the front runner seeing as she wasn't trapped in her 8 year old body.
"We just want to talk to Hebe!" Percy persisted.
Sparky pointed her megaphone in Percy's face. "Maybe you will, if you survive the race. Have fun!" She lowered her bullhorn and strolled off.
In the depths of the arcade, someone screamed. A chair went flying. A pinball machine toppled over.
Cressida drew her thyrsus. Annabeth drew her knife, which looked bigger in her small hand.
Grover yelped. "Here they come! I can smell them!"
"Smell what?" Percy demanded. "I don't see—"
He was shut up when the chickens from the henhouse came rampaging through the arcade. Dozens swarmed over the game cabinets and knocked over furniture, ripping the upholstery with their claws and beaks. Some flew over the heads of the customers, strafing their hairdos. Others snapped hot dogs out of people's hands. The Hebe Jeebies patrons didn't seem to mind. They squealed in delight as they ran from the hen-pocalypse like those crowds at bull-running events in Spain, as if they were thinking, These animals might kill me, but at least I'll die in a really cool way!
Then their beady little eyes fixed on the four friends as Percy pulled out his ballpoint pen. "These chickens want trouble? I'll give them trouble."
Cressida scoffed. "The only trouble you'll be in, Water Boy, is for ever thinking that that was a good line."
Percy uncapped his pen but for the first time in his life, it stayed a pen. No sword sprung into his hands.
"What the...why?!" he screamed at the pen, which didn't help with his unheroic voice that was about four octaves higher than his usual one.
Cressida snatched the pen from him and uncapped it herself as the sword sprang to life before she handed it to her boyfriend and it shrank back into a pen almost automatically.
"AHH!" Percy screamed angrily.
Maybe it doesn't work for kids," Grover suggested. "You're too young now."
"You mean my sword has a childproof cap?!"
"Hey, guys?" Annabeth said, sheathing her knife. "Argue later. Right now, I have a different plan: RUN!"
But while they ran, Cressida charged at the chickens.