The Lighthouse
in a sense, for my numerous friends - endless - because i love you and hope our friendship can hold in the way that these friendships do.
Notes:
-slow updates, appx. once a month
-expected length: 3-4k per ch. & 30-40 ch.
-romance?
-warnings: language, alcohol
CHAPTER ONE
The bell jingles as someone stalks in - on heels, too, by the sound of it. There's a second in which he can hear what's going on outside, the sound of loud cars and yells making him smile. He's always liked the suburbs, with the flashing lights and music. It's chaos; it's barely controlled chaos, but it is soothing to him.
Percy closes the sketchbook and looks up. He senses her before he sees her. It's Thalia - of course it would be Thalia. She comes in just about every month, getting a new tattoo or bothering customers. Her dark hair looks blue in the light, but as she walks closer, it turns into the darker shade of black that he is used to.
"Thals," he greets, inclining his head. "Back for another tattoo?" She laughs loudly and pulls off her leather jacket, throwing it on a chair. Underneath, she's wearing a tank top, and her bare skin is covered in ink. There's one spot, though, that he knows she's been saving - a small place under her hair, on her neck.
She plops herself down in a chair and gives him a look. "No shit, Sherlock." Her grin is lazy and dangerous; she looks like a panther in wait. He sighs, longingly glancing back at the sketchbook and going to prepare himself.
Even as he's pulling out his needles and ink caps, she taps her foot on the tiled floor and checks her phone. She looks completely relaxed - not that he isn't. He slips on gloves, making soft snapping sounds as they pull tight against his skin.
"Payment?" he asks. "Forms?" She points to a packet lying on the counter, where he had been sitting earlier. He nods. Thalia chews something loudly, and when a pink bubble escapes her lips, he notes that said thing is bubble gum.
"Hurry up, Perce," she whines, but her eyes gleam with secret knowledge. He works slower, just to annoy her, and in turn, she laughs.
He's wiping her neck with alcohol, the cotton swab disposed as soon as he's done with it. There's not much business right now; he can take all the time he wants because it's nighttime. Then the razor. She doesn't even flinch as he runs it along her neck, capturing all the excess hair.
She won't say anything, though neither will he; this is the time for silence. He brushes the back of her neck with a cold finger, and keeps it there, waiting. Seeming to know what he wants, Thalia lets out a soft breath and concentrates.
The spark comes to him slowly, like a candle flickering to life in a dark room. Lightning. An eye, a deep, dark blue. He can see it clearly, replacing his surroundings. It's beautiful, mystical - and of course, it is a symbol. Or, more specifically, her Mark, as he likes to call it.
Each of them has a Mark, something that is closely linked to them and that symbolizes their power. He has one himself, on his neck, a tidal wave, an eye identical to Thalia's.
Well, sort of, anyway. In reality, the Mark will come to them in dreams, or even awake - in coffee or something. To them, it will mean something is stirring, that something, good or bad, is about to happen.
He likes having it tattooed on his neck, something that is easily hidden and is just as easily shown. And for some strange reason, Thalia is the last person to have her Mark tattooed; Annabeth and Luke have theirs already, an owl and a caduceus.
As far as they know, they are the only of their kind here. There are others, scattered across America and in other countries, but here, in Texas, they are alone.
Then he outlines it - no stencil, just ink. It's not hard, and besides, the machine will take way too long. Sweeping black lines form the eye, and underneath it, the bolt. He's pleased with his work, but the job is far from finished.
Percy gets glimpses of her thoughts as he shades. The four of them meeting at Rabunè, a small café. Dreams, coming to her; Always fog. Shadows. A sound of a terrified child's scream. Then her Mark, plain against an almost colorless background. Her thoughts repeat again and again, a cycle.
He doesn't mean to - not really, which is probably why a wave of guilt washes over him, cold and unforgiving. It's instinct, though, to do something like that. Not completely his fault. Underneath his hands, Thalia tenses for a minute. He bites his lip. They're not supposed to use raw power in unprotected areas, because that's a sort of magical beacon to all things supernatural; almost a magical trail, sort of. It's hard to describe, but the supernatural can see and sense all magic, kind of like dogs when they mark their territory and other dogs can sense it no matter how old.
It's finally done; he rubs ointment on it and bandages it as an extra precaution. It's really just protocol; no infections allowed.
"Okay," she says, gripping the armrests and standing up on her own.
He glances at the clock, and it's about time to close up, anyway. He yells that to Dave and Josie, who are both in the back office working through paperwork and possibly making out. Not that he will tell them that he'd seen them kissing, of course.
Thalia doesn't react when he drags her out of the door, wincing slightly at the sudden clamor in his head. There's all types of things; but in the not-so-innocent town, most of it is booze, drugs, or sex. There aren't a lot of kids up and about at night - after dark, it's adult time.
Percy tries to block off the hoard of information pouring in, still dragging his friend to the car. They get in, seatbelts get fastened, and they are off. Next to him, Thalia cranks up the radio, static louder before the familiar sound of music blasts through the area. It's a song he likes - Youth, by Daughter, a not-really-mainstream band. There's hidden meanings behind the words, which he always likes. It connects to him on a personal level, he supposes, a bit more than other songs.
He slides into a free parking spot. The Rabunè is as small as always, but when they walk in, the chatter is loud and welcoming. He winces at the sheer amount of people, putting a hand to his head. Thalia looks at him with understanding eyes and takes his wrist with cold fingers, leading him to a more sheltered area in the back. It's better here, and he collapses in a chair and blocks them out one by one.
Blocking out others is pretty hard to do; and especially with the sheer amount of people, it's even harder to concentrate. His friend has left - he can sense her, at the counter ordering for the four of them. Percy closes his eyes and imagines a darkness sweeping through the room.
Each mind - each soul - is differently colored. He thinks them of sort of candles, the younger generation, who are all people like him, burn brighter, and those who are older and closer to the welcoming arms of Death, have dim glows. One by one, he snuffs them out. The one sitting by the door. The one who's rip roaringly drunk, talking rather loudly. Each and every single one of them, until there is nothing left in his mind but his own thoughts.
He opens his eyes again - in time to see Thalia waving a waiter over. He's fairly young, and kind of tall, with sweeping blond locks. The waiter is dressed nicely - as all waiters usually are - in a simple white shirt and black slacks. He whips out a small tablet and taps something. Percy guesses the man is pretty new, seeing as he and his friends know many of the workers here.
"What would you like to order?" he asks. Percy doesn't even glance at the menu as he hands it over.
"Hot chocolate," he says. "and your almond butter waffles, please."
"And you?" The eyes are off of him.
"Caramel latte and pancakes."
"Maple syrup or butter?"
"Maple syrup, please. Thanks." The waiter nods, putting their orders in. He sends them a soft smile.
"Your food will be out shortly, sir, ma'am. Thank you for coming." Thalia waits until the mortal is out of earshot, before leaning in and whispering a few words.
"Calling them." He nods in affirmation and leans back, watching her pull out one of those cheap flip phones that are "so five years ago", according to his customers. It's Annabeth first - he can tell - to which she snaps a couple of words before promptly hanging up. Then Luke, where she says the same thing before setting the phone down.
"I've been having dreams," she starts nervously, tapping her fingers on the table. "and I wanted to talk to you guys about them, especially now that there's been a spike in-" The waiter comes back, bringing with him two drinks, steam rising off the top of them. Thalia bites her lip and waits.
"I know," he reassures her. "I saw." She narrows her eyes at him, frowning.
"Can't you control it?" she asks. "Stop doing that." He realizes what he's doing - instinctively staring into her eyes and reading what little thoughts have been going inside her head. He shakes his head, looking away.
"Sorry," he says, wincing, and he really means it. "You know how it is," he murmurs, pleadingly. "It's getting stronger, and the closer I am to someone, the more I can sense." She sighs and sips at her latte, blowing on it every now and then. He doesn't make a move to touch his own drink.
"I know, I know," she says, desperately. "But still. Your eyes - they're so unsettling sometimes. And you know you have to learn to control it. It'll consume you if you don't." Her own eyes look watery, like she's about to cry - but then a voice cuts in. He jerks up with a start. He should have been able to sense him, really.
"Such cheerful topics," Luke says, the glow of the lights falling across his face and making his eyes look gold, almost. He smiles a winning smile, the one that makes all the girls just swoon. "What are we talking about - Death, death, or Death? Or death?"
"Hardy har har," comes another voice, distinctively feminine. Annabeth slugs Luke in the arm. "You shouldn't joke about those things, Luke," she scolds, grey eyes flashing.
"Or what, I'll die?" Percy almost can't hold back the laugh; for some reason, he finds their banter hilarious. They slide into respective seats, Annabeth giving him a smile and sending a glare at Luke, who sits with Thalia.
"Almond butter waffles," someone announces, setting a plate down with the most wonderful aroma down in front of him. "and pancakes with maple syrup. And are you two wanting to order something?" Annabeth orders before Luke, her choice of food sounding delicious.
The thing with this cafe is that they have 24-hour breakfast - which is like the best thing ever. If he had a choice (gee, thanks Mom) he would choose to eat breakfast, breakfast, and breakfast. Percy can practically feel his concentration begin to falter, his power begin to slip beneath his fingers, and he presses his lips into a thin line and tries to control it.
This time, be builds a wall between him and the thoughts of other people. He's never tried it before - he's always silencing others, not blocking them off, but somehow, this works. The wall holds. Just like in real life - it's easier to build up a wall by stacking things up instead of running around blowing candles out.
Soon enough, he's digging into his waffles - oh, this is heaven. There is nothing quite like waffles made with almond butter that is slathered in more almond butter. The outside is golden, but the inside is pale and soft and yum. For the next few minutes, he forgets why he's even here, until the wise girl herself speaks.
"So," she says. "why are we here?" Everyone turns to Thalia, who is shoveling food in her mouth as fast as Percy is. She looks up a bit confused, though her face clears soon after.
"Oh," she mumbles, swallowing another bite. "Right. Yeah. Sorry, it's just these pancakes-"
"Thalia."
"Sorry. I'm getting really worried, keep getting the same dream over and over again. My, uh, Mark is always there, hanging in the sky like some weird call for Batman- um, sorry. I get so off-track. Fog. Shadows. There's the sound of terrified scream - a child's, and they can't be older than twelve. And my Mark. That's it, for the past three nights." At this, Annabeth frowns and leans forward.
"But I haven't been receiving any dreams," Luke says worriedly.
"And neither have I nor Percy, probably. My guess is, well, whatever's going to happen... Thalia, it'll only happen to you. Not to us." He turns to look at his blonde friend, whose expression is serious.
"But we've always-" he starts.
"Done things together, I know," Annabeth finishes. "but this is for her. The best we can probably do is be there for her, and we don't even know..." she trails off and shakes her head, blonde ringlets moving back and forth.
"Guys, you can't just... what about me?" Thalia says suddenly, her expression one of anger and loneliness. He can feel it, this strong wave of emotion, and his wall is crashing down - he can't think -
Loud. Everything is so loud, suddenly so clear, and he can hear every single thought in the restaurant. There are colors, neon, and they shine brightly while pressing against his eyelids. The brightest color is an indescribable pink, but it seems to fade to a dark hue of blue, almost black. The colors swirl together; he sees it. His Mark, the dark blue eye and a green tidal wave crashing down over it.
And then an invisible string tugs him to the surface of an ocean created by thoughts. It is silent, he realizes. Completely silent.
"Percy," someone says, shaking him. "Percy." It's Annabeth - he can tell, and the smell of lemon shampoo washes over his senses. He opens his eyes, blinks at the sudden light shed on him by strings of lanterns. When his vision focuses again, she is standing over him, blonde hair curled like a princess's.
He must have fallen out of his chair, then, but he doesn't remember it. She helps him up, saying nothing, instead choosing to fix the collar of his shirt like it's important. It's not - but the Mark is. Something is happening, and whatever unbalance has occurred - well, it's not good for them nor their powers.
There is a slight pounding in the back of his head, but he can't hear anything. There are no thoughts in his head but his alone. Thalia stares at him, electric eyes unsettled.
"Something's waking," she murmurs. Personally, he agrees.
"Yeah. I heard it. Something big, dangerous - and it's so dangerous that it is unbalancing the order of power. That's what happened to me, I guess. He's messing with me," he tells them. Luke studies him, eyebrows scrunched and drawn together.
"That powerful? How do you know it's a he?" The question catches him off guard; he doesn't know. The word 'he' had just came out. His throat and tongue feel sandpaper dry.
"It doesn't matter, Luke. What happened just now... I mean, I don't know anymore. Whatever it is, it's not a good thing."
"Let's go," Annabeth says. "We should go." She looks nervous, grey eyes darting around in suspicion after the events. Together, they stand up. The sound of scraping chairs is a terrible cacophony, and it is loud; people glance over for a second.
As they walk out, an eerie wind picks up. It swirls around them, and he can hear the faintest of howls. Before he can follow it, the wind stops, and the howl is gone. A chill creeps down his spine, cold fingers sliding down like water. In silence, they all head to their own vehicles, and Thalia hitches a ride from him.
He turns up the music loud to fill the emptiness. Bass echoes through the air, but there's still something there, something that is not welcome. There is a moment of static, soft hisses, before the music once again pours out of the radio. He follows the two cars in front of him - Annabeth in an old, red pickup and Luke with his van. Lights blink. Engines rev. But he doesn't pay attention to that, following his friends to Base One.
They park outside of a library, and Annabeth goes up to the glass door first. It's after hours, but this is where she works. There's a jingle of keys, and then the door swings open. He jogs up concrete steps and enters, his footsteps muted by the plush carpet.
It has never failed to take his breath away. The library is an old one, and every time he walks in, he can feel it. Not many people come here; the place is, as people believe, haunted. Which is true. He's never seen her - Lise, one of the many ghosts that haunt the town - but sometimes, she will leave them notes or whisper news of the supernatural. He can't sense her presence today, however, so she must have run off to who knows where.
"Come on," Annabeth says. She winces. "Sorry, our lights stopped working, but Luke, do you think you could..." They all know what she is asking. It's most likely dangerous to use powers now, as the thing lurking in the shadows is drawn to it, but they can't walk around in darkness. Okay, it's a theory, but from the dreams and weird stuff, he could bet the theories are correct.
There is a moment of hesitation. Then, a ball of fire flickers. It begins to float, and Luke manages a weary smile in the dim light. Annabeth walks to the back, her hand moving on the bookshelves as she looks for something. The light follows her.
She stops, and her hand presses down on a symbol carved into the wood. It's nothing much - to the mortal eye, anyway - just a tree enclosed in a circle. The Tree of Life. She murmurs something under her breath, too softly for him to hear, but he knows what she's saying. Ego præcipio tibi, ut aperias. I command you to open. The tree glows white, and the carved symbol retracts into the wood. The entire bookshelf groans as the outline of a door appears on the surface. Annabeth touches it; the door ripples and disappears. In its place is a stone stairway leading downwards into darkness.
It's small, and he has to duck his head to go in. He's the last person, and the door shuts after him, sealing itself. The steps and such are made of stone, so everything echoes. He can hear every single breath they take. The stairway expands as they go further down, until finally, they arrive at their destination.
His friends chants a few words. He doesn't know what she's doing until the first torch lights up. Then a second, and a third. It continues until all the torches burn with a bright, unnatural light. Luke extinguishes his little fireball. And they disperse.
Base One is a library of sorts, like the one upstairs. He prefers to call it a labyrinth, though, for there are lots and lots of tunnels. But this is where they will find what they need. The first room is the heart of the labyrinth, and it's huge. There are thousands of books piled neatly on bookshelves. He lifts a torch from the wall and begins his search.
Each book has an aura of sorts. It's something that they can all see - auras - though it isn't a completely honed skill. He picks one that looks iridescent. The spine, made of worn leather, has The Book of Olde scrawled on it. Percy blows off the dust (as seen in movies) and sits on the floor, torch in one hand, book in his lap.
He leans back against the bookshelf to read. Scanning the contents, he looks for the old creatures, the ancient ones. The ones older than he is, anyway - after all, he's almost five hundred nineteen, which is older than Annabeth by one year and Thalia by fifty-four (Wow!) since she'd been frozen in time for quite a while. Five hundred nineteen. (Which is still kind of weird, but he's considered really young by supernatural standards. He's only ever gone to the Council three times, while others have gone, well, more than him.)
One of the beings in particular catches his eye. EREBUS, the book says. A being of darkness. No one remembers where he came from, though some consider him born of bad thoughts and curses.
He is said to have dark wings, almost five feet wide. His eyes glow black, though sometimes, it is said his eyes are blood red. Often, he will wear a black cloak, made completely out of shadow. He is bad luck, a bringer of dark times, and will represent death. (See THANATOS, pg 233.)
Erebus is able to manipulate emotions and tamper with power. In the old stories, he was always seen causing catastrophic events. He is also thought to have control over the elements. Most importantly, though, Erebus feeds on all kinds of darkness - violence, anger, and anything negative, which makes us extremely vulnerable. In this way, he may drain our kind of our supernatural power and eventually, our life forces.
There have been no weaknesses that Erebus has exhibited. Those who face him face certain death. Tread carefully. Beware. Although banished, he cannot ever truly die, and the darker the world grows, the stronger he grows.
A note: As revealed by the Council, the oldest and most wise counsellors of the supernatural, Erebus was the first dark being to rise. Aether, a being of light, created our race after a first dark age to protect the world from falling to darkness again. This is the reason we have been gifted with powers and fight monsters.
Great. Just fan-fucking-tabulous. He can't wait to meet this guy.
"Guys," he calls. "found something! To sum it up, we're going to die. We're doomed. This is the end. Got that?"
"What?" Luke says, walking over in his aisle and crouching down. "What do you mean, to sum it up, we're going to die?"
"Who is this motherfucker, anyway?" Thalia asks, using the shelf to help lower herself to the ground slowly. An eye roll. "He can't be that bad. I mean, come on, we lived through last summer." Percy winces - last summer had brought the return of this monster army thing that had pretty much destroyed them. Almost, anyway.
"Thalia, language. And if we're facing death, then it would only make sense that it's worse than last summer. Because we're still alive," Annabeth scolds in her annoying smart-librarian voice.
"This 'motherfucker' is Erebus, and by the looks of him, we're going to die. He's this old guy who spurred our creation, actually, who brings death and feeds off darkness and all that shit, right? And he comes from, like, bad thoughts and curses and stuff."
"And we're going to die?"
"He can destroy the world, so, um, yeah," Percy says, summing it up.
"Oh. Okay, cool, world destruction. Mmhm, I just love world destruction," Thalia spits out. He rolls his eyes at her.
"And dark ages," he mentions. She wrinkles her nose at him.
"And dark ages," she adds, sighing and leaning back against the bookshelf, which Annabeth does not look happy about. Luke laughs bitterly.
"Great, again? It's been years - obviously not long enough - since the last time something this catastrophic happened, and that was only because the shadow world started acting up and making the mortal world act up, therefore causing war and pretty much killing off everyone stupid enough to try stopping it. And then we had to deal with the stuff last year," he complains, rattling off problems. "We'll have to move out of Paris soon enough, the way this is going."
Percy sighs at the last one. He's been around the area since it started in around 1824. There's always been a lot of trouble in Texas (not as bad as South America, but still) as it's near the water as well as just an old piece of land with a helluva lot of culture and history. It's not a popular place (well, this small place, anyway) in terms mortally, which meant the supernatural world could thrive.
Annabeth glares at the two boys. "You two are so pessimistic, you know that? It pisses me off. You two always see the dark side of things, and sometimes I just want to punch you in the face. Or hurt you where the sun doesn't shine."
"You mean when Texas is having weather mood swings?" he jokes. The look she gives him isn't funny.
"Shut up, Seaweed Brain," she huffs. "And you-" pointing at Luke. "shouldn't be laughing." Her glare is so ferociously Annabeth that he can't not laugh.
"But Annabeth," Luke protests. "We're not pessimistic."
"We're being realistic," Percy finishes the phrase, grinning. They fist bump and pull back making explosion sounds.
"Guys," Thalia says. "Saving the world here?" Percy flushes in embarrassment. Humor is one of his stronger traits - mostly because with the life they live, it's either laughing or crying, and he prefers laughing over crying.
"Right," Luke says, coughing into his hand. "Of course."
"We should go to the Council," Percy suggests. "I mean, there's nothing really better to do. We're going to need all the help we can get." Next to him, Annabeth sighs and sits down, crossing her legs. The librarian stares at the book in his hand, a concentrated look on her face.
"But then what?" she asks. "Then we fight? And then what?"
"Yes, we fight," he tells her. "We prepare for the worst. We prepare to fall trying to make a difference. We prepare to know that our sacrifices will do nothing and that it was all for nothing because this is our purpose."
"To die?"
"No. To keep making differences no matter how small, because there will always be a tomorrow even if we aren't in it. And maybe tomorrow isn't significantly changed, but we'll have paved the road for another who will keep making those small changes until the world is changed for good or for worse."
"Nice monologue, Perce."
"Yeah, thanks. But still... it's true."
"Alright," Annabeth says. "We'll go to the Council and ask for their judgement. After that, we do our best. And after that... we'll just have to see. Now come on," she snaps, jumping up and summoning a torch with a flick of her hand. "we still have time."
"Wait, we're going now?"
"Yes we're going now, Mr. I-am-a-Realist. Hurry up. We need to grab a couple more books, check the perimeter, and get before the Council. And we have to be careful, too. If Erebus really is rising, then he's going to go straight for us. Paris is littered with magical trails - centuries of it. Besides, what happened today... who knows what'll happen the next time?"
A hour of work later, they are driving up Highway 275 at a speed that's probably unsafe - but hey, perks of being someone who doesn't care about something as miniscule as car speeding because the world is about to end. After another few hours on the road, switching between driving and dozing in the passenger's, they arrive in New York - and it has only been a few hours (okay, thirty-seven) because of car manipulation by bursts of magic and Luke's stash of RedBull as well as Annabeth's stash of Coke. (And water and sleep.)
The building looks like any other New York building; it, of course, isn't. TSC Industries is a tall, proud building. The windows gleam as dawn's rosy fingers touch them. Even at dawn - four in the morning - New York is alive, a living breathing city, pedestrians shopping and cars inching their way down the roads.
They go to the side entrance; RESERVED FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, where Annabeth once again touches the carving of the Tree - on the doorstep - and says the same exact thing as she had before in the library - I command you to open. The doorstep shifts around with them on it, a staircase leading downwards with already-lit torches on the wall.
He takes the first step, the sound echoing in the staircase against cold stone. The Council awaits, a wind whispers in his ear. Come, hither, children of the moon and sun. Hither.
And so the four of them answer the call, each of them dreading the moment in which they will find out who has beckoned.
And AE is back with another one. Things will start explaining themselves (more than they did) as the story moves along, but hello, I would like to know what you think of it so far. And what I should do with it in terms of where I haven't planned - romance, characters, & so forth.
Should ye not mine, please drop a review below, and I'll... see you next time?
achieving elysium