Here's where my normally useless knowledge of airports comes in handy. Be warned, I don't actually know much about the airports in NY other than the few times I've stopped there. I do know more about the Atlanta airport than almost anyone on the planet, though.

-xxx-

My friends did end up hooting suggestively, shouting, "Go get some!" and they didn't not mean monsters. My face burned knowing there was actually something behind their taunting. Oddly, though, it was Mark who's face was the reddest. He pointedly tried not to look at me, which only made it more obvious. I guess he was embarrassed to be included in that.

We climbed into the back of the white camp van that said DELPHI STRAWBERRIES on the side, and sat crouched on the floor next to each other. I dropped my spear and sat down onto my backpack, probably smashing the ambrosia inside. I was lucky to not have been stabbed with the collapsible sword in it. Mark dropped down next to me with a huff, nearly sitting on my spear.

"Shouldn't you have a flaming double-bladed axe or something?" Mark grumbled, and then ignored me for the rest of the trip to the airport.

-xxx-

On our first steps off the van- stiff from sitting in one position for so long- I took a deep breath and looked around. It was my first time really leaving camp for six years. Of course, I'd been on field trips to places like Mount Olympus in the winter (which was really fucking cool although I won't be caught dead telling anyone, and if I was, they wouldn't hold it against me. That place is sick, dude) but it wasn't the same. I'd missed the real world. It didn't look much different from camp, actually- the same blue sky, the same sweltering heat- but it's the real world- where you can fight monsters and find out if you're any good. New York had never been my city. I liked the rage of it, but I grew up in Arizona. I liked big, wide-open spaces.

When I turned back to Mark, he was watching me with his calculating eyes. It should have been unsettling, but I shivered for a very different reason. A gust of refreshing wind tousled his blonde hair playfully, which snapped me out of it. I turned to the bustling crowd around the front of the airport, which were moving in and out of the automatic doors.

Mark shielded his eyes from the sun and said, "Ready?" I nodded. I'd only ever been on a flight twice before, to visit my grandparents in South Dakota when I was seven.

We walked up to the Delta ticket counter (I don't know if that was intentional, or a coincidence,) where a busty woman in a uniform was standing. The airport ticket counters- if you've never seen them- are these long counters with computers and employees every few feet, and a row of TV screens up top announcing which employee can do what for you. There was a place to wait in line, but there was no one waiting, so we just walked up to the counter carrying our bags.

The airport seemed pretty empty, only a few people- a family with kids, two business people, and what looked like a rugby team on steroids (or the Ares cabin, but I didn't recognize anyone, so I didn't think they were my siblings)- were around. I didn't know how we were going to afford two tickets to Atlanta, because there was no way Chiron sent us with enough money, because plane tickets cost like a million dollars and I don't think they take twenties or golden drachma. But Mark slid up, and suddenly, it was like seeing him in a whole new light. Camp Half-Blood was his element of course, it was the only place really safe for us, but this, doing business it seemed, was his other element.

"I want to purchase two tickets for the three-fifty flight to Atlanta," he told her. He was standing with his back straight, and the apparent hostility from earlier seemed to have been sucked away.

She sized him up, but he held her gaze, and she deemed him worthy or something, because she nodded, "And how are you paying for this?" He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. I'd never seen it before, but that didn't mean much, I didn't exactly spend a lot of time with Mark before now.

"Will this be fine?" he asked, holding up a silver card. As he handed it to the woman, it caught the light, and I saw it had a silver owl pattern on it. I wondered if that was something from his mom, or a sentimental thing from his dad.

"That's excellent," she said, "Do you have a form of ID?"

"Oh! Right, sorry, here," he said and handed her what I think was a drivers license. She took it and typed in a few things on the computer, looking down at the card and license every few seconds. She glanced up at Mark.

"What's your full name?"

"Mark Logan Clemens," he said, and she nodded, verifying. She looked expectantly over at me, but Mark was the one who spoke.

"What's your full name, Red?" Mark asked. I mumbled my name, but neither of them heard. The ticket lady leaned over the counter, her boobs pressing into the top, almost spilling from her shirt as she tried to hear me. "What?" he asked. I sighed.

"Redford March Venn," I grumbled, not looking at either of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the lady lean back over to her side of the counter with an eyebrow raised, typing in my name.

"And your birthday?" she asked, looking at me.

"December third, nineteen ninety seven," I'd be turning seventeen in December, but for the next six months I'd be sixteen still. I hoped she wouldn't ask for an ID, because I didn't have one. Camp was the best and everything, but since we didn't go anywhere, we didn't need one. And Argus didn't really give driving lessons, so no driver's license either. I'd driven a few times, when Hermes campers would sneak out and "borrow" the camp vans or SUVs on occasion. I seemed to be spared from humiliation by her focus on checking us in.

After another minute of her typing, she asked, "Checking any bags?" She was eyeing our bright orange backpacks.

Mark and I looked at each other and a wordless "No way in hell," passed between us. We looked up at the lady, who was staring intently at our bags, and she looked as if she was starting to see what was really in them. Mark and I looked at each other again, and he politely said, "No thank you, these are both carry-on."

She was still focused on our bags and a look of realization dawned on her face, "Oh my-"

Mark quickly snapped his fingers and said, "We'll have those tickets now, please. There's nothing of concern in our bags."

Her eyes were glazed over as she nodded along to what he was saying, as he manipulated the Mist. He looked like he'd done it quite a few times before. She snapped out if it, and looking flustered, she said, "Oh my, here are your tickets! Don't let me forget them!"

Mark took them and we walked towards security. We walked in silence, but Mark was stealing glances at me. I sighed, and was about to demand he say what he was thinking, when he spoke.

"Redford March Venn ?" he asked incredulously, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

"It was after my dad," I mumbled, looking at the ground.

"What?" Mark asked.

"March. The month was named after my dad. Because Mars was his roman name, and they like war a lot in Rome."

Mark just looked at me like I'd grown two heads, "I know that, I just didn't think you'd know that, being a son of Ares after all."

I scowled, "We're not all stupid."

I couldn't tell what the look on his face meant, but after a moment, he said, "I like it."

I stopped. Mark a few feet ahead of me, and turned around. I said, "Don't fuck with me."

His eyes widened, "No, no! I'm not! I promise. I really like it."

I searched his eyes, and other than the little bit of fear I saw (which tended to happen a lot when I was dealing with people and Mark was the last person I wanted afraid of me. I scowled,) there was nothing in his eyes that said he was lying.

-xxx-

We got through security pretty easily. We put our weapons and backpacks on the conveyor to go through security, and I don't know what they saw, but they started checking through our stuff. A guy in his late forties a few rows over started looking at us, and I get the feeling he saw exactly what was in the bags. Everyone else just rolled their eyes at the hold up. The airport security guys started talking among themselves, looking at our bags.

One woman eyed me nervously as she walked over to us. I crossed my arms and frowned, and she flinched. I smirked. Mark shot me a look and I shrugged.

"I'm sorry, but you can't bring these-" she started, standing straight in her TSA uniform. Mark cut her off with a snap of his fingers. She and the other TSA guys got a blank look on their faces. Mark looked like he'd had a lot of practice bending the Mist.

"It's fine. These are just…" he looked at me, "Lacrosse sticks. A lot of lacrosse sticks."

They nodded dumbly and let us pass.

-xxx-

The flight was pretty decent. Mark and I pretty much ignored each other. He looked out the window and read some advanced trigonometry book. I dug into those little packets of peanuts and other things they brought us, then watched a movie on the little screen on the back of the chair.

We were sitting in first class, which is apparently the really expensive section of the airplane that looked solely saved for guys in suits reading newspapers, rather than two kids in ratty orange tee shirts. I really didn't know how we afforded that, because my mom wouldn't have ever let me spends like a million dollars on plane tickets for me and a friend. I asked Mark about it, but he got this look on his face, like he didn't know how to tell me, and then said, "I'll tell you later."

-xxx-

After the flight landed, we gabbed our bags from under the seat, and rode the subway type of train to the baggage claim gate- where you got your bags if you checked them- and then rode up the really long escalator to baggage claim. There was a row of people held back by ropes, most of which were hired drivers holding signs, although a few were family members of people getting off the plane. Mark's eyes were scanning the crowed, when they landed on a man in a suit and cap- looking every inch the limo driver he probably was. The sign he was holding had CLEMENS written on it. My hand instinctively clenched around my spear. I stepped slightly in front of Mark. I knew he could protect himself but I couldn't help it.

"Mark?" I asked, turning to him. The man holding a sign with Mark's last name might have been a coincidence, or some clever monster's trick, but by the sheepish look on Mark's face, it wasn't.

"My dad lives just outside of Atlanta, I guess my dad called him," he told me.

"How'd he know we were going to be in town?"

"He probably saw the activity on the card and saw that we were coming to Atlanta." I opened my mouth to ask how he figured that out, but I snapped it shut. That was a guy that Athena fell in love with. He was probably ten kinds of genius. My mom had worked in a shop that dealt with Civil War replicas, and she liked to go to those reenactments. She'd been Florence Nightingale more times than I can count, which is how she had caught the attention of my dad.

He waved to the driver, who grinned, and waved us over, "Mark," he nodded.

"Greg!" he said. I released my grip on my sword. It was clear they knew each other well.

"Shall we be going?" Mark nodded. We followed the driver out to the limo, and as we were walking, Mark told me that Greg was his father's usual driver, and a friend to them both.

-xxx-

Greg pulled out of the lot, and started driving us out of the airport. He looked back at us through the mirror, and his the corners of his eyes crinkled. His mouth was turned upwards, and he asked, "Home so early? And who's this you brought with you?"

"Red. A friend from camp."

"A friend?" he asked, and his eyes fucking twinkled. Mark blushed furiously, and I sat there dumbly.

"Yes!"

The driver cracked a wry grin and said, "If you say so."

We rode in silence for a few minutes. We were sitting in the back seat, next to each other, both of us looking out our windows. The little window separating us from the driver was still open, and I could see the back of his neck and hat. After ten or so minutes, the driver spoke.

"Where to, Mark?" he asked, then added, "Your father said to visit him if you have time."

Mark sat forward, "He's in town? Isn't the ANZAAB book fair going on right now?"

The driver nodded, "It was canceled last minute. Something about the hall it's normally held in."

Mark sighed and sat back, "That was always a good one. I guess there's always next year."

"Any particular destination in mind? Or shall I just drive around in circles all day?" he asked.

"Well, I was thinking we could start with-" he stated, but I cut him off.

"Mark," I said, still looking out the tinted window. "Get out. Now."

"What? Why?" he asked, with wide, confused eyes.

"Just go!" I shouted hastily, reaching over him to open the door, and pushing him out. I rolled out after him. A few seconds later, the car exploded, and a drakon barreled towards us. Still in shock, Mark sat down in the grass and watched me fight it blankly. I don't remember much of the fight, just flashes. I didn't get hit with any poison, and somehow managed to have the bastard avoid hitting Mark too. My spear- the only weapon we had left, since our bags had been in the trunk of the car- broke in two, but I had enough of it left to kill the drakon. As it dissolved into dust, I walked over to Mark, and made sure he was okay.

I pulled him up, but he was still staring at the wreck of the car. We were on a side road, and no on else seemed to be around. I walked over to the burning wreck, to see if Greg was still alive. I knew he wasn't, but I had to do it, for Mark. He was the type of guy who would want to know for sure. It was stupid. I didn't even know why I was doing it. Mark wasn't interested in me, and wouldn't ever be, but one look at him and my stupid resolve dissolved.

All that was left was the smoking metal, which I started moving out of the way. After a particularly large piece, I see the charred remains of a skeleton. I turned to Mark, who was following me with his eyes, and shake my head.

He sat down and covered his mouth, and said, "Oh my god."

I sat down next to him. He looked so miserable that I put my hand on his shoulder in comfort. He looked at me gratefully. After a few minutes he stood up, and wiped his eyes, holding out a hand for me. I took it. When he pulled me up, we were only a few inches apart. I could feel his breath against my mouth. He sucked in a breath, and his eyes were locked on mine. I wasn't sure what was happening, when he stepped back, and got a guarded look on his face.

"If I'm correct- and I usually am- then there's a gas station about a mile from here. We can use the phone there really quickly. I think I know where we can go."

-xxx-

The taxi driver dropped us off at the gates, and Mark paid him with the little bit of cash he'd had in his pocket. We were standing in front of the biggest place I'd ever seen- what looked like a plantation. Or what one would have looked like without the farming or anything. The yard was like a million acres and down a path that went on for half a mile, there was a huge, several-story white mansion, with pillars. They weren't Greek, more of the Civil War type of plantation pillars, and everything else matched. The gates were ten feet tall and silver. Mark pushed one open, and held it out for me to walk inside, shutting it behind me.

I started dumbly at the plantation, with the trees dotting the path up to the house, "You live here?"

Mark smiled proudly, "C'mon, lets go see inside."

I followed him up the hill to the house. As we passed the garden, he waved to an older black man kneeling in the flowerbeds, in overalls and a straw hat. He whispered to me, "That's Clark, he's the gardener."

Mark walked over to the big oak doors, and opened them, ushering me inside. I stood and gaped at the entrance. The front hall was bigger than my whole house, with dark wood and other expensive things, like chandeliers and paintings. To the right there was a parlor, the left a dining hall. Past the dining room's archway, there was a stair case to the left, which Mark ran by, then disappeared down a large hallway to the right. He nearly ran into a squat Spanish woman in a grey maid's uniform.

"Oh Meester Marrrrk! You weren suppose to be home yet! I don't have your room ready!" she said, after getting over the shock of almost being run into by a sixteen year old boy.

"Rosa!" Mark laughed and hugged her. "We're not staying long. How's dad?"

She shook her head and said, "If I was not here, your father would forget to eat!" She smiled and patted his cheek, "I see you soon, yes? You always come back from that summer camp so tired!"

He smiled and nodded. She passed us, humming something. After she disappeared around the bend, I asked, "Who was that?"

"Our housekeeper."

"Housekeeper?"

"They're- the staff- they're like family- it's always been like that. They've been here since before I was born. Some of them even knew my mom- they were here while she and my dad were together. They used to tell me stories about her when I was young- she used to spend a lot of time here with him, when he wasn't at the university."

I paused for a moment, then asked, "Do they know you're a demigod?"

Mark shook his head, "No, but they suspect."

He turned to double doors along the hall. On the walls, there were doctorates, degrees and PhDs, certificates and awards. Next to the left door, there was a single photograph. It was of Athena, I'm sure, since the woman in the photograph looked just like Mark, except she had black hair. She was standing in front of the doors her photograph was next to, except they were open, revealing a library. Athena was wearing a white blouse and black slacks that cut off mid-calf. The curve of her mouth was turned upwards, and she was looking towards the person taking the picture. She looked just like Mark when he smiled.

I turned to him, and he was looking at the picture. He nodded towards it, "My mom."

I nodded. I paused, then decided to tell him about mine, "Mine was killed by monsters a few years ago. After a fight we had. That's why I live at camp all year."

He looked at me, and his eyes were full of genuine sorrow, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Now," he said, "Ready to meet my dad?"

-xxx-

Inside the library, it looked like a- well, a library- had exploded. The shelves were overflowing with books. There were rows and rows of shelves, with more books piled on top of those shelves, others crammed into every nook and cranny. There were a few display cases at the end of the wall, with what looked like paper from before my mom was born, back in like, the Civil War, when there was black and white TV. There were a bunch of stacks of books, some higher than my waist, some towering over even the shelves. There was a mound of them in front of us. Half the books seemed to be in another language- it took me a moment to realize that they actually were.

"Are those in Greek?" I whispered. He nodded.

"My dad speaks it."

When I first saw Mark's dad- well, I really didn't see him, that was the thing- I wasn't all that surprised. He was buried in a stack of books, with only his blonde hair sticking up. When he heard us whispering, he said, "Rosa, I told you-" he stuck his head up over the top of the stack of books, and when he saw his son, his eyes lit up, "Mark!"

Mark broke into a grin and said, "Hi, Dad."

Mark's dad stood up. He looked like a mad scientist, with blonde hair sticking up in a lot of different directions, large glasses falling off of his nose, and a white lab coat. Why he was wearing a lab coat in a library, I didn't know. He stuck out his hand, "I'm Walter."

I didn't take it- I didn't like to shake hands. "Red."

"He's a son of Ares," Mark explained. Walter nodded soberly like he knew exactly what that meant, taking back his hand.

"I'll be with you in a second!" he said suddenly, running off, "I just have to find this first edition Journey to the Center of the Earth, first!"

Mark leaned in and whispered, "It's been missing since before I was born."

"It just came to me where I last saw it!" he said excitedly. We nodded like he was going to find it.

Mark picked up a book from the nearest pile, looking down at it. It was one of the Greek ones, a book on Greek mythology.

"When I was little," Mark explained, "my dad would read them to me. I learned English practically as a second language. I've known Greek since I was born- I could already read and write it when I went to camp. I learned to read with these books. When I was young, my dad and I would read the Greek myths together he'd always had a particular fondness for Athena," Walter chuckled from somewhere in the library. "I realized when I was eleven that he was in love with her. So I asked him about it."

I sucked in a breath, "And what did he say?"

"I told him the truth," Walter spoke up from my right. I turned to see him sit on a pile of books higher than my waist. "I figured that since he was eleven, monsters would start coming around soon," his face darkened, "and some already had. I've always been able to see through the mist, and I procured some Celestial Bronze to line his crib with when he was a baby, after he was almost attacked by a Hell Hound. A Hell Hound! In my own house! Attacking my son!" he said angrily. "Well anyway… I told him of his mother- who she really was, anyway. I'd been telling him about her for years- and he went to camp that summer."

"Just like that?" I asked. Mark nodded.

His dad studied me for a moment, then asked, turning to his son, "What happened at camp?"

"We've been sent on a quest. Well, it's Red's quest. His dad just made me come along."

His dad raised an eyebrow, "I'm glad you came to see me while you were here. How's Greg?" Mark opened his mouth, then shut it. His dad's face fell. "Something happened, didn't it?"

He nodded. I spoke up, "We were attacked. Which is why we don't have any supplies."

Walter nodded seriously, "You've come to the right place."