A/N: Next chapter. My fingers are numb, it is so cold.

DISCLAIMER: I own this all. JK! I do not. Rick Riordan owns the Percy Jackson series, and the characters and the plot and everything else.

How could he do that to me? Is all I can think as a I run home from Travis's house.

I am furious. I didn't even realize what I was doing while I was doing it; I wasn't myself. I can't remember much of what happened, only that I acted like a love-sick fool, and I ditched my last few periods of school. I can't remember the conversations between Travis and Connor, and Travis and his mom. Just the tones of voice, and the fact that I had continually played with Travis's curly hair.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. Yes, I do.

Do I?

Yes. Well. . .

Yes.

When I get home, I slam the front door shut behind me, and slump to the floor. I recall something similar to what must've happened today. Something, from a few years ago. . .? The Stolls pulled some rotten prank on an Ares camper, and she got all girly and love-sick and foolish. They got punished for, like, six months with dish duty. Not to mention the full wrath of the Are cabin. I never saw that prank again, and Travis and Connor stayed on the down-low for the rest of the year.

I hear someone pulling their car into the drive-way. I don't really feel like seeing anybody, or talking to anybody. I feel like curling into a ball, and then crying until a die.

I go upstairs, planning to do just that, as Isabel enters the front door. "I'm home!" she announces and hangs her coat on the coat rack.

I lie down on my bed, unable to process my fury. Tears spring into my eyes, but I don't know why. I shouldn't be this upset. Well, maybe I should. This was an awful, cruel prank. Travis must've known I liked him, and was trying to make fun of me for it, just as he always makes fun of my choices.

I hear my step-mother scream downstairs and something clatter to the floor. She rushes upstairs, and pounds on my bedroom door.

"I think you have a friend that wants to talk to you, Katie!" She screams at the door, and continues running down the hall, and then slams the door to her and Dad's room.

I open the door, and go downstairs. There's a bowl on the floor with a ring of soup spilled on the carpet.

I crouch down beside it with a towel I brought from the kitchen. I get up and Connor is in front of me.

"Ahh!" I shriek. He startled me. Connor's in an Iris Message. "Connor?"

"Yeah," he looks impatiently behind him, as if he's doing something he isn't supposed to be doing. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you must be pretty peeved off at my brother. It wasn't him who put the Affection potion on you. It was me. I was angry with him, and pranked you to get to him. It wasn't his fault. Don't be mad at him. It was my fault." He says this all in one breath.

"What? Why would you do that? How the-"

"Sorry, Gardner. Gotta go. Travis's coming. Bye! See you later." Connor dissolves the connection with his hand.

I sit there on the floor next to the puddle of soup and the towel and the bowl. I just sit there, unable to speak or walk or get up or do anything.

Someone knocks on the door. I know it's not Dad, because I would've heard his car pull into the driveway. Travis couldn't be here. At least not that quickly because I caught a glimpse of him sneaking up behind Connor, hands out to strangle him.

I walk to the door, and turn the knob slowly. I open the door and standing there is. . . something. With two snake trunks for legs, and female humanoid from the waist up, and a very scary-looking sword, stands a dracaenae in the door frame. Before I even comprehend why there is a monster at my front door, it slashes at me. I duck before it can amputate my head.

I think: What can I use for a weapon? I can't just jog upstairs to get my dagger, can I? No. The bowl. It's ceramic, but a thin ceramic. If I can break it, I can maybe get a sharp piece. And that would at least give me some time to hold it off until. . .

Until what? Nobody knows I am trapped here with this thing. Nobody is going to come to the rescue.

The beast slashes at my shoulder, narrowly missing me. I almost shout with relief, but the monster slashes again, this time at my side, and it doesn't miss. I see warm, sticky blood seeping through the cut of my shirt, and fall to the ground.

The bowl is out of reach, and the idea seems ridiculous to me now. A broken bowl cannot protect me; a weapon has to be made of Celestial Bronze in order to be suitable for use by a demigod to send a monster to Tartarus.

Which means I am on the verge of death. I lay down on the carpet, eyes closed, helpless and hopeless, waiting for the strike to come, for the sudden burst of pain of a blade to my body. But it doesn't come. I hear the WHOOSH! Of a sword, and then a hissing screech, and then panting. I feel powder around my ankles.

Someone helps me up by my elbows, but I don't bother to look up to see who, because my entire side is throbbing in a sickening sort of rhythm. The person half-carries me to my bedroom. I feel like I am gonna pass out from the pain.

I slip in and out of consciousness, and one time when I come to, I see familiar blue eyes watching me, and then flit to the bandage around my waist, and then back to me. His eyes are red, like he's tired, or he's been crying.

He's holding my hand softly, as if afraid I'll scold him for doing so.

"D-did you. . ." It's hard to speak, my throat is tight with the crying I feel like doing. I'm throbbing everywhere. I mean to say "Did you find my ambrosia? Are you the one who saved me? Are you the one who cruelly pranked me earlier today?" But it comes out as a murmur, and I only get the first part out.

Travis hears me, and shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't find any. I didn't want to leave you to get some from my house."

"S-s'okay. My-my bedside t-table," I croak.

He shakes his head again. "I already looked there."

"Underneath? Around?"

He ducks away from me and crouches on the floor, looking by the bedside table.

"Yes!"

"Y-you found it?"

He hands me a piece of the squashed up ambrosia, I take it in my hand and put it in my mouth. It tastes like fresh foods straight from the garden. Smothered with a little warm butter.

I instantly feel better. I mean, I still feel like I came back from the dead, but the pain is dulled now.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry. And then I couldn't find ambrosia or nectar 'cause you're hurt. And if-if you had died it would've been my fault," he whispers softly.

I shake my head feebly. "No. It wouldn't've been your fault."

Travis looks at me sadly, and then looks at his hands. "And-and the prank from earlier today-"

I shake my head again. "No. It wasn't yours. It was Connor's wasn't it?"

"How'd you know?"

"He Iris-Messaged me." Travis nods. "My-my side. Did you. . .?"

He nods, then looks away. "Your dad isn't home yet. Um. . . I should check on your cut."

I nod, and Travis gingerly unwraps the bandage from my waist. The wound is still there, but it isn't as bad as I know it was earlier. He touches it softly, and I wince. It doesn't hurt as bad as it should, but it startles me.

"Sorry," he says sincerely. His usual sarcastic smile is replaced with a worried frown as he re-wraps the injured side.

"D'you-d'you think I'll still have to go to school tomorrow?" I ask. I am curious.

He laughs, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I dunno." He face-palms hisself. "I forgot to call your dad!"

"Ask Isabel. I don't want to attract anymore monsters, please."

Travis nods, "of course."

I try to sit up, but Travis puts his hands on my shoulders and eases me down again. He shakes his head, and exits the room, heading for Isabel's room.

I hear him ask her nicely to call my dad, she argues and questions "why?", He tells her I'm injured. And she's all like "what?" And now he's getting impatient telling her to call my dad, and she reluctantly agrees.

I sit up now with little pain. I rub my eyes. Travis saved my life. Now I am in debt. To Travis. The one who usually pranks me, occasionally putting my life in that danger.

I push the blankets aside, and I notice I am still in my jeans and my shirt with the giant tear in the side, with blood stains.

I get up quickly, ignoring the sharp pains in my side, shut the door, and put on a different shirt. An orange one with faded words on it. My oldest-existing Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. I put on a pair of jeans, and leave my bedroom.

Travis is downstairs, pouring a glass of water. "Katie! You're not supposed to be up!" He rushes towards me.

"I feel fine," I say, and brush him off. "But thankyou. For-for everything." He hands me the water. It tastes. . . confusing. I recognize it as the drink he gave me to cure of my. . . Illness that Connor gave me.

"It's cool," he murmurs. And now the dreaded awkward silence comes, at least until I hear my dad's truck pull into the driveway. Travis helps me to a chair. "You have to take this a few times a day to keep you from going all. . . Anyway, it should wear off completely about two days from now. It's nectar, lemon, and water. -"

"Katherine Gardner!" My dad rushes to me from the front door and demands to know everything that happened today. I leave out the whole affection-potion thingie, but tell him everything about my being injured. He shakes his head. "Maybe. . . Maybe you'd be safer at camp. Perhaps we should send you back."

"No!" Travis and I protest in unison.

"Dad, I can't go back yet! I still have the rest of the school year! And I've only been here for a week! And we'd have to notify camp! But no! I can't go!"

My father shakes his head. "Fine. But one more monster attack, one more attack in general, on either of you, and Katie is going back. I am almost sure Travis's mother would feel the same way."

I mutter something along the lines of "there's not gonna be another monster attack," and I hear Travis doing the same.

"I'd-I'd better go," Travis says, getting up. "See you later, Katie. Take care." He sounds strangely formal.

"Later," I answer, as he leaves the house.

"Why don't you go to bed? It's been a long day," my father suggests, and I nod.

I go to my bedroom, and lay in bed, and fall asleep quickly.

I dream I'm in Olympus, in my mother's temple. The temple is a beautifully crafted structure, with flowers artfully placed everywhere, the colors creating an almost dizzying effect. Demeter's sitting by the altar, waiting. For me.

"Uh, hello, Mother," I bow my head out of respect.

"Hello, child," she greets. "A dracaenae attacked today, correct?" I nod. "It appears the boy, Adam, or Cockalorum, as I so often hear you call him, is an enemy of yours?" I nod again. "He's a bad crop, that one. Too little cereal," she smiles, and her eyes twinkle green.

"With all due respect, what does this have to with a monster attack?" I implore of her.

"It has everything to do with it! There is something bigger brewing about, something dangerous beyond measure, and the Romans are getting suspicious that there are Greek demigods out here, and they are correct, even though the Greek demigods are just a theory right now. However, some of the Romans are very aware of your existence, and are wanting to put a stop to it! They believe the Greeks were, evil, scheming, and sly, even though we both know Greeks were clever, and were not evil." Demeter paused. "Romans are usually honorable, however, some will go to extreme lengths to diminish enemies. As you know, some monsters aren't so bright, and can easily be manipulated, if the person manipulating them is smart. That dracaenae was sent by Adam."

She lets those words sink in for a bit while she plays with the flowers, changing her pansies to daffodils to roses, then back to pansies. She continues, "tomorrow, you must return to your school, you must show yourself as uninjured, and strong. Since the monster did not achieve its duties, and tomorrow you will look uninjured, Adam will try harder to hurt you, to force information out of you. Don't let him. Help will always come, accept it. And. . . don't forget your garden. Those gords aren't looking too good." She smiled, and glowed brighter, so I looked away before she could.

I promptly wake from the dream, and rub my eyes. There was a faint glow I could see streaming through my curtains. Morning light.