0.9
Juliana's pulse is racing along with her mind as she followed Chiron, Reyna, Frank, Nico, Chris and Larissa into the Principia, which also doubles as the praetor's office.
As people delve out of the Senate, talking and discussing what have happened amongst themselves, Reyna had requested the aforementioned people to congregate in the Principia before Reyna had dismissed the assembly and gesture the others to keep up with her and enter the abundantly supplied hallways of the Principia.
The hallways feature paintings from different eras, listing the various demigods that had been given the position of Praetor. Some of them are Impressionists works but the majority consisted portraits of old men in frockcoats and woman posing lavishly in exquisite dresses and large diamonds. The recent ones are photographs of Reyna and Frank encased in an ornate, Imperial Gold frame. There are also priceless, pretentious cabinets of Rome's priceless, historical artefacts such as scrolls and jewelled necklaces presented grandly on tiny golden pedestals and velvet boxes. The Twelfth Legion Eagle is also sitting amongst these treasures under the guard of alarm-sensitive glass doors that the children of Vulcan had designed to keep out robbers. The lush Persian rugs that blanket the marble floors are so soft Juliana feel as though with every step, she's about to sink. The diamond chandelier reflect dim lights into the passageways, gracing it in delicate auras.
Reyna's braided hair swishes behind her like a cow's tail as she marches them into her office, her cloak as equally pliant as she welcomes them in. Reyna unsheath her purple cloak and hang it onto the elegant stainless steel coat rack that waited for her besides the doorway, then occupies herself into the office chair on the desk by the left.
"Larissa, try and text back," Frank offer, "Maybe we can try and get into contact with this...Isaiah person."
Larissa nods abruptly. Her fingers work like pistons on the phone's tiny keyboard: Must meet to discuss terms. She press SEND, and the phone responds: Recipient unknown.
She tries again. Recipient unknown.
"Neat trick," Nico remark. "He can reach us, but we can't reach him."
"Of course," Reyna rub the side of her temples and her eyes float towards Chiron. "I'm so sorry for this. I didn't really mean for this to happen."
Chiron smiles kindly at the daughter of Bellona. "Reyna, relax. It's fine. Besides, we also had an event at Camp Half-Blood."
Nico, Reyna and Frank straighten up almost immediately. "Wait, what?" Frank asks sharply. "What do you mean?"
"There's been a prophecy," Juliana says, out of nowhere. Suddenly, the attention is on her. "Rachel- um, our Oracle- delivered a prophecy for the first time in four years."
Animosity strike a chord in the air and a heavy silence so thick, you have to tear it to chunks with a saw, fall upon everybody.
"Shit," Nico swears violently, "Motherfucking shit. I hope for fuck's sake, we could avoid another prophecy in this lifetime."
"Nico!" Reyna lecture, like a scolding mother, "Language!"
Nico rolls his eyes.
Juliana refuse the urge to smile- these are some of the greatest heroes of Olympus right in front of her and yet they're arguing like little babies. It's almost humanising to see them in that sense.
Chiron coughs uncomfortably, "Nonetheless," he steers the conversation back to the topic at hand, "Whether we would like another Great Prophecy in such a short span, we have no choice. It's clear that this prophecy is referring to your current predicament...this Isaiah boy. I have no idea who he is."
Nico's face darkens. "I do. My father- Hades- told me about him. It's supposed to remain a secret...he didn't even tell Hazel yet but Isaiah...well, he's a special case."
"How so?" Juliana arches her eyebrows.
"Isaiah was Sired by Kronos. Or rather Kronos in Luke Castellan's body."
For the first time in her life, Juliana Greer could feel her logic failing her. She's not the only one- Chiron and Chris are both ashen-faced while Reyna and Frank are the only few who are relatively confused, patiently waiting for an explanation of who Luke Castellan is.
"But Luke...died only, like, five years ago," Juliana says, her mind confused. "Are we dealing with a five-year-old kid?"
Nico shakes his head, "No, Kronos...well, he wanted an insurance policy of some sort. So from the timeline my father constructed, he reckoned that Kronos must have gone back in time and sired a child all the way back in 1999. Which fits accurately to our timeline, of course."
"That...make sense," Reyna's brown eyes glittered like dark pools. "So he's a son of a Titan."
Son of A Titan sounds like some sort of godly insult. Juliana covers her mouth to stifle her laugh and fight to keep a straight face. Stay serious, Juliana.
"Yes, Isaiah is the son of Kronos and it's believed that his control over time is also impeccable. Nonetheless, from my sources, we've gathered that Isaiah Wallace had a bit of an unstable...background."
"Unstable?" The boy Chris, who everybody whirl around to see where he is, questions. Chris is leaning on the wall, lazily slumped like a true child of Hermes he is. "How so?"
"Well, he murdered his mother kind of unstable."
"Ah," Frank say faintly, "That kind of unstable."
"Regardless of who this Isaiah is," Reyna say, "One thing is certain- a quest is in order. And we need to figure out that stupid riddle-"
"Ten words," Juliana mutter, "The riddle has ten words."
Everybody stare at her, not because she interrupted Reyna- the legendary praetor of Camp Jupiter but because of her sudden input. She fumbles at the weight of six pair of eyes on her. Say something, you idiot. "The riddle," she says confidently, fiercely like the headstrong daughter of Ares she is despite the fact her insides squirm at the thought of speaking so strongly in front of such powerful demigods,"Have ten words. It could mean something. Like uh, ten demigods on this quest or ten days to complete this quest or…"
She trails off.
"No, no, continue on," Reyna encourages her, smiling slightly.
"Well, the riddle sums up ten words- or assumingly, ten words as the last word was unfinished."
"Someone write down the riddle," Frank instructs.
"I will," Larissa hurriedly produce a pad of paper from her many, many pockets, reminding Juliana of a certain son of Hephaestus and his fondness for pockets. Larissa scribble down the riddle.
"The first line is already kind of weird enough. I'm no daughter of Athena but…'crimes too many?' could mean a lot of things, it could be talking about an organisation- or even a person. But probably an organisation because the next line kind of alludes to that. It says 'order of'. So we can assume this is an order that has done plenty of crimes. That is what the riddle is about. It's talking about an order, or an organisation who had performed many crimes. I mean, it could be completely off but…"
"No, no, any lead is good," Reyna assures her, "It's still better than nothing. So an organisation for crime?"
Nico's eyebrows stitch together, "What, like, a mafia?"
"Or the Chinese Triad," add Frank helpfully. "Or the Japanese Yakuza."
"We get it," Reyna point out sharply. "So an organisation of crime...but they're all mortal organisations. What do they have anything to do with us?"
"Maybe…" Chiron wonders thoughtfully, "Maybe...there's a demigod version of this. A demigod organisation for crime. Not that I have ever heard of it."
"Neither have I," Frank said.
Larissa jerks her head into a vigorous shake.
"You know how you guys have those prisoners from Katadiki?" Chris offers, unwittingly genius. "I bet those guys know about demigod crime organisations more than anyone else in this Camp."
Nico's eyes widen. "Of course. He planned this. He orchestrated a prison breakout, knowing that whoever remain will be brought to Camp Jupiter since it's the closest demigod stronghold to the Underworld. And then he dropped this-" Nico gesture to the phone on Larissa's lap, "-on Camp Jupiter. He has planned every move and every possible counter move we might make."
"This guy is either a strategic genius or he can see the future," Reyna's mouth is a grim line, like a deep gash created by a knife. "But that doesn't matter. We have some prisoners to grill."
Juliana hope she meant that metaphorically.
FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO
The windows are shut. The atmosphere was thin, fragile, as if Isaiah is to touch it might disintegrate. An ancient codex has been flipped open, the undecipherable words and multicoloured drawings shown to the world. A blank canvas and a map is next to the codex. Five candles are seen to placed on a stone altar; four in cardinal points and one in the middle; their flames bright and eerie, contrasting the consuming darkness.
Lyra is perched on her knees, head bowed down like she's praying. Maybe she breaking out of her inertia, she removes the massive black lace veil from her face and drapes it onto the altar, disregarding the candles and the flammability of the structure.
It catches on fire.
"Whoa!" Fernando Ramirez shouts, his hammer materialises ready to strike. Isaiah's warning gaze fall on him and Isaiah shakes his head. Fernando hesitantly stows it away but his hand remain on the handle.
"Relax, stupid," Lyra laughs, "Just magic."
Her hand delve into the other pockets of her designer Gucci tote bag and retrieve a corked see-through phial of thick, slimy black liquid. She extracts the cork from the phial and pours the liquid onto the floor- but it never lands, as the liquid stop half-way down and collected in the air, solidifying into a black carbon cauldron.
"Neat trick," Casvel Springfield remark as It lands on the floor of flames with a definitive thud.
"Please, basic witchcraft," Lyra says, as she picks up the Codex and begins to read as she explains: "These are just ritualistic matters. Every child of Hecate can perform a potion that helps create a cauldron."
"What are you doing?" Isaiah interrupts her process quite frankly, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "You drag us out here just to set some things on fire? Really, Lyra?" Did I make the wrong calculations? Seen a wrong future?
"You told me I have three months to get you details," Lyra snaps, her dark brown eyes flickering along with the coils of flames that lick the veils- surprisingly, it didn't sputter out or die away. It's stronger than ever, blazing and eating up the lace "Here it is. Might as well watch the process, won't you? Now shut up."
Isaiah refuses the urge to roll his eyes- he knows the real reasons why Lyra drag everyone out to watch this ritual: to assert her dominance and to show off her powers to everybody. But of course, Isaiah doesn't care how much Lyra's ego needs stroking as long as she produces the results. Though ego can be dangerous- and much worse, annoying.
Everybody is deadly quiet as she seems to memorise the contents of the unreadable text in the codex, close her eyes and begin to chant under her breath. Then her eyes flew open, glowing a dark purple. She seems pre-possessed by some form of demon or spirit as she reaches into her holster and produces a small pocketknife. She slices a thin scar down her wrist, near the vein, biting her lip as the pain pierces into her, and squeeze her blood into the cauldron.
The people back away- Erica is beside him, swallowing, as Lyra's dilated purple pupils retreat into their normal size and colour of ordinary honey brown. She rummages through her tote again and unsheath a wooden box, carved with ornate flower designs. She mutters a spell to unlock it, with a distinctive click and reveals a collection of herbs,
"Myrrh," she drops a few pebbles of brown stuff, "Sulfur," a few spoonful of yellow powder that fills the room with a rotten egg stench, "Heliotrope," and a beautiful, decaying purple flower falls into the potion, "And anisette." She clicks her fingers at Finnic, who happens to be clutching a bottle of Anise-flavoured liquor, and pours the whole bottle into the cauldron. It begins to broil and bubble, sending a stronger, foul odour. Like rotten cabbage. Isaiah crinkles his nose but observes on intently. He wonders if he has chosen the right witch.
"Spoon," Lyra gasps at Finnic, who had helped Lyra carry her supplies from the makeshift office Isaiah had offered for her to work in. A spoon is thrust into her grasp. She whisks the potion faster and faster as if to keep up with the pace of the liquid boiling, "Ostende mihi, Illum quem quaero."
Lyra ultimately collapses. She would've hurt herself from the impact of her body smashing onto the concrete floor if it isn't for Isaiah's fast reflexes. He manages to catch her- or perhaps more specifically, she ungraciously topples into his arms, with her head lolling about and her arms and legs dangling in the air. She's not too heavy and she smells of herbs, singe with smoke rising from it. Her forehead is damp, her skin waxy with strained exhaustion and the lines of his face are stretched.
"Take her to the infirmary," Isaiah instructs Finnic and Jason by unceremoniously dumping her into their arms.
Mckenzie Cordell, one of his few trusted recruits, points at the blank canvas and retrieves it from the floor, her eyebrows furrowed, before showing it to him. "Look!"
Isaiah's breath is stolen away when he sees it. In glistening red ink, most likely blood, names and numbers are appearing on the canvas. The map besides the canvas spontaneously combusts. Bright red-orange fire coil around it and spread through the entire map, engulfing the paper in embers. Soon, it sputters and then die- like it eventually does. Except for one difference- out of his very own gaze, there's now newly acquired blood on the map that begin to separate itself and snake- yes, the word snake was quite appropriate- towards different parts of the world, heeding at various sports and marking Xs.
"She's drawn us a map," Isaiah shakes his head, almost speechless. His eyes read hungrily over the names; a list of Undetermined and undiscovered recruits along with where they are and where their coordinates are. His eyes scour through them- Asta Vik, Somnus, Underworld, William Adler, Hecate, London, Samantha Tamaguchi, Ares, Camp Half-Blood- and the list goes on. "A map and a list of names of every being of godly relation in the world and where they are."
Isaiah sits on the edge of her bed, examining Lyra's slumbering, supine figure as she lies helpless on a bed in a short row of many others similar to hers. There are no windows in the room so it's completely lit with candles and show globes. A jug of nectar sits on the beside table. Isaiah grimaces at the reminder of his dwindling nectar and ambrosia supply. He needs to plan for another raid on the wholesaler's warehouse if he didn't want his healing supplies to diminish.
Looking at Lyra unconscious, so peaceful and quiet, wrapped in white linen, no makeup, almost harmless when he's used to seeing the Los Angeles socialite rocking up in a short glitzy party dress, tall heels and some designer bag. He could picture her so clearly, overdressed in an opulent piece that's meant to catch his eye and entice him, peering over him with her charcoal coated eyelash extensions, an impregnable, indifferent expression of her lips reducing into a thin, white line before it finishes with a slow smile and her dark brown steel eyes soulless and devoid so you wouldn't be able to decode what she's thinking behind her cool, detached exterior- an art she has probably mastered over the years.
It's also an art Isaiah prides himself on; an art where he learns how to twist the arches of his face not to react to emotions he feels inside his skin. It takes time but when you're the Master of Time, it's like you have the whole world at your feet, begging for you to take it.
Then suddenly, she stirs. Her eyes feel as if it weighs a hundred pounds as she tries to pluck her eyes apart from each other. Her lashes flutter before her as light mire him. "Argh," is her first syllable in her parched throat. It feels as though a scorpion had built a nest inside of it. She clear her throat of phlegm.
When her view of Isaiah idly waiting for her on the edge of her bed sharpens, Isaiah holds wooden pitcher up to her lips and tilt the nectar into her throat. She drinks ravenously, licking the wet sides of the cup after the nectar has disappeared down her gullet and the pale valour and exhaustion wreaked all over her body disappears.
"Ugh, potions," Lyra wrinkles her nose as she sets the pitcher back to its original placement. "Tedious work."
"Well done," Isaiah congratulates, fiddling with the zippers of his oversized utility jacket and retrieving the scroll of canvas paper with the names of demigods written all over it.
"Happy now? It's a locator spell," Lyra explains, tugging at the white hem of her infirmary dress. "And it's a big spell. Location spells are usually quite easy but this one is on an international, mass scale to locate every demigod in this world. Makes recruitment almost ten times easier?"
Isaiah nods briskly. Isaiah's curtness is usually inflected with his familiar military grittiness and business-like manner; Isaiah is a perfection and so he expects nothing short of expectations, even himself. "You saved us time. And paperwork. So for that…"
"I'm waiting."
A sharp inhale. A tongue briefly wets his lips before he responds: "What would you like?"
Lyra lean in closer, with a catlike grace from the arch of her back. Even without the facade of smokey makeup and exposing clothes, she manage the predatory glint in her eyes that parallels with her thinly disguised amused grin. Isaiah force his eyes not to trail down her chest, where the gap of her shirt has opened up and reveal the white outline of a lacy bra. She does that on purpose, Isaiah. Focus. "Isaiah Wallace, bending to my will? Ooh, interesting."
He rolls his eyes, "It's not that hard to believe," he says, "I gave you all the spellbooks you requested in order for you to prove your worth. You've done that. Now what?"
"I want all the names of people with Hecate's relations."
"Why?"
"You told me your vision three months ago," Lyra replies blithely, "And yet, you're still stumbling in the dark, looking for a way to topple the mortals out of their fat asses. Sure, you've done a few massacres here and there but really, to the mortals you just look like a bunch of silly terrorists that's really just another ISIS."
Isaiah sets his jaw. "So?"
"So it's aimless," Lyra retorts; a collection of serrated remarks and deceptively sweet saccharine smiles. "You hijack a few planes and kill a few people isn't going to get you anywhere. Isaiah, babe, you're stunning in a psychopath kind of way but you have no direction. Lucky for you, that's where I come in."
"Don't call me babe."
"I'll call you whatever I want, sweetcheeks. Just hear me out, you want demigods to stop hiding? You want mortals to bow at your feet? You want to prove that we're a race of godly descent and therefore we're superior? You're going to need a massive plan. And I found a little something that might just do it."
"And?" Isaiah's anger at her previous remark mellows down into confusion and slight interest.
"Well, you're going to need some major witch power for the biggest spell a race of Hecate had ever done. You're going to need a Coven."
You, Ros, come with me."
Larissa stops in her place, finger the straps of her shoulder bag as she spins on her heel and comes face to face with her Praetor. The shoulder bag slinging by her side is the size of an ordinary satchel and it has the weight of an ordinary satchel but with a few tinkerings, she had charm it to fit her whole tool box- three sledgehammers, an axe, a power drill and various other tools she might need.
Larissa might've appeared puzzled as Reyna continues on: "I want you to help me with the prisoners."
"Why me?"
"Because you're right here?" Reyna says this as if it should be obvious. "And of course, you figured out this device. I need you to be with me, in case you come up with something else." Reyna holds up the phone and presses it into Larissa's fingers. A certain warmth blossoms under Larissa's finger and her likeness to machines and the sudden need to figure the piece of metal out unfurls in her stomach. She begins to fiddle with the buttons.
"Um, of course…"
"I'll buy you a cup of coffee," Reyna offers, stepping forward towards the daughter of Vulcan. Despite her list of impressive achievements, the daughter of Bellona now espouse a friendly quality, which Larissa finds very disconcerting and too un-Roman like from the most Roman-like person she knows. Larissa doesn't know how to react- should she be friendly as well? Or keep that respectful Roman distance? Humans are always so difficult to work with. At least with machines, she knows what's going to happen- if they're faulty, the reason is clear and obvious; either bad wiring or wrong coding but humans...well, they're a bit of a confusion. Maybe that's why Larissa prefers to spend most of her time tinkering with machines, like most of her siblings.
Larissa pauses. She could go for some caffeine right now. Last night, she fell asleep on her tabletop counter at four in the morning, halfway through an automaton because she got inspired about robot fencing dummies for the Legion. It's a good thing, though. She hasn't felt inspired since last May and had squandered most of her winter doing almost absolutely nothing except for cloud-shaped doodles until the idea hit her square in the chest.
"Um…" She shifts her weight tentatively from one foot to another. Reyna arch a perfectly plucked eyebrow; the sunlight, coming slant now through the west window, catches her hair, parted and drawn back into a neat plait. Larissa swallows, tucks in a loose hair that strings out from her ponytail. All Larissa wants to do is go back to the forge and work on those machines. Not spend more time with other life forms. "Sure. Let's go."
After Reyna cock her head at Larissa to follow her, they make their way out of the Principia. Campers had return back to their normal camp activities, the Third Cohort practicing their legion formations, the Second Cohort rebuilding their barracks, the First Cohort going through their marching drills while the Fourth and the Fifth are on their breaks. The events at the Senate seems to be erased from everybody's minds but Larissa doubts it. As she and Reyna stroll through, she could feel their gazes burning holes into her and whispers following her. She's willing to bet all her denariis that everybody is talking about what happened behind their backs. Larisa watch as a bunch of Fifth Cohort members in swimsuits and towels head into a building with steam coming out of a row of chimneys. As Larissa passes, their smiles melt off and turn somber. Larissa's grip tightens around the phone. As she and Reyna disappear in the distance, laughter and watery sounds resounds and echoes from inside the Bath House.
"Where are the prisoners?" Larissa question as she scans the area for any unfamiliar faces or chained hands.
"I've texted Gwen to escort them to the Colosseum," Reyna says, as they enter La Coffea and breathe into the enriching aroma of spicy cinnamon and ubiquitous coffee beans permeating the air. "We'll have to question them one by one. Frank and Chris also agreed to help."
"Are we going to-"
"No, we're not going to do it the Roman way," Reyna explain as she slams two Imperial Gold coins on the counter. "My mother had always abhorred the Roman technique of extracting information. Pain makes people afraid. They'll clamp up and tell us whatever we want to hear, not what we need to hear."
The girl is a militant and of professional personality, even though she looks no less than a few years older than Larissa. Reyna's stare is sharp and acidic enough to cut glass as she pulls her face into a thinking sequence, trying to find out the best way to dig out information. "But I think I have a way of getting some extra info before we resort to coaxing the prisoners into giving us information."
"How?"
"We'll need to visit the augary."
Larissa frowns as Bombilo the two-headed coffee merchant plops down their espressos. Larissa sips and immediately her eyes widen. Her head resembles the feeling as though she just inhale three dozen tonnes of sugar, which is to say she has descended into a state of frantically and alarmingly hyper. Reyna, on the other hand, blanches at hers and asks Bombilo if she could have another shot in hers.
"I practically survive on coffee. Perks of being Praetor, eh?" Reyna pulls a sour face as she stirs her coffee before gulping down.
"Huh, yeah," Larissa chuckle awkwardly and then mentally facepalm herself. Why did I say that? I've never even been close to being a Centurion. How would I know?
"It's tiring, sometimes," Reyna rubs her shoulder. She's not wearing her Praetor cloak and Twelfth Legion medallion anymore. Just a purple UNR V-neck shirt and a pair of comfortable black tights and her Imperial Gold dagger strapped on a leather belt. Larissa knows that belt. She helped made it.
They fall into amiable silence as they walk the rest of the way to Temple Hill. A crooked stone path leads past a crazy assortment of tiny altars and massive domed vaults. Statues of gods seem to follow Larissa with their eyes.
On top of the summit, clouds swirl over the largest temple, a round pavilion with a ring of white columns supporting a domed roof. The Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, Larissa thinks as she looks up at the grand structure.
They enter in. There is a hollow, sinister echo resonating across the room manufactured by the untimed, out of sync stampede of their shoes ringing across the room. Larissa's eyes focus on the way how the architecture is designed and her mind immediately goes to how she could design an automated roof canopy above the open dome when it rains or some awesome laser-rays as extra security measures to guard the entrance or-
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Reyna murmur.
The marble floor is etched with fancy mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkle gold. The whole temple is open to the wind. In the centre stands a marble altar, where a small, skinny, red-feathered harpy is nesting in a bed of books. She appears to be reading a massive leather-bound book.
"Larissa meet Ella," Reyna says as Reyna approach the harpy, "Ella meet Larissa."
"Larissa," the harpy squawks, ruffling her own feathers along with each book. "Roman girl with Greek name; a nymph from Thessaly, daughter of Pelasgus and violated by him. Tragic ending."
Larissa blinks.
"Um."
"Oh sorry, Ella is like that. She's a harpy with an eidetic memory," Reyna says affectionately, "She can memorise anything she reads, which includes the destroyed Sibylline books."
As they approach Ella, Larissa notice Ella is painfully thin. Her feathery legs are like sticks. Her face would have been pretty except for her sunken cheeks. She moves in jerky birdlike twitches, her coffee-brown eyes darting restlessly, her fingers clawing at her plumage, her earlobes, her shaggy red hair.
"Cheese," Ella sniffs at Larissa, "You smell like cheese. Ella doesn't like cheese." Her hands snatch at Larissa's hair, her burlap dress, the raindrops, whatever moved. She glances sideways at Larissa, then look up in the air and start reciting to the clouds. "Special girl, special prophecy. Born beneath the new moon on the night of the shadowed death. Death, the Grim Reaper, Master of Death, Harry Potter-"
Reyna inhales sharply, eyes alert, "Ella, what did you just say?"
"Master of Death, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived.Mr. and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much-"
"No, before that. The prophecy." Reyna's gaze dart towards Larissa, "The one about Larissa."
Ella didn't pay Reyna any attention. She picks at her feathers and mutter under her breath, like she was practising lines for a play. Her eyes float upwards to Larissa and say again:
"Born beneath the new moon on the night of the shadowed death,
Comes the child, born of time, to be blown away in fate's breath,
Parted in unison with the Triple Goddess Magi Prodigy,
Comes a partnership that will doom the mortal world for eternity;
Thus a new brethen of unlikely half-bloods are needed to rise,
Along with other campers from Greece and Rome united side by side."
Larissa's ears are ringing. She feels dizzy like she has just plunged a hundred feet underwater and back up again.
"This must be the prophecy Chiron was going on about," Reyna guess.
"And somehow it has something to do with me?" Larissa' hands shake. "Why?"
"You don't question prophecies," Reyna play with the straps of her holster. "But that doesn't matter. You were clearly meant to be here. Ella, I need to ask you something. Larissa, give me the riddle."
Larissa presses the phone into Reyna's hand. Reyna switches it on and shows it to Ella, who peers intuitively on the phone.
"Have you heard of it?"
"Shrouded in crimes too many, find order of the…" Ella trails off, thinking hard. Ella's forehead crinkle in scepticism, not repulsion. She must've heard weirder accounts. "Order of n squared? Big O notation. Order of Nine Angles, a satanic cult in the United States. Order of the Knight, Order of the Knight Hospitallers, Knights-"
Dread fills Larissa. "It's a play on word," Larissa realise, her teeth scraping her bottom lip. "The riddle- order of the n? Order of the Night, Order of the Knights."
The phone in Reyna's grip chimes. The device light up with a new message.
Bingo.
Reyna retreats. "How..."
There's a recording device hidden in this phone. If I were you, I wouldn't try to remove it.
"Meet us in person, coward," Larissa says to the phone speakers. "If you're so tough, see us."
There's no answer.
"Damn it." Despite the setback, an emotion- something akin to excitement flicker in Reyna's eyes. She plays with a golden SQPR band on her bracelet, indecisively fidgeting with the Camp Half-Blood pegasus bead looped on it. It spins round and round her bony wrist, like Larissa's turbulent mind.
"Well, I guess we have something now. Order of the Knights, huh? Seems like we have a lead on where our interrogation is going. Thanks, Ella." Reyna turns to Larissa, "Now come on, we can't waste any more time."
Again with more plot and fewer characters but it is needed to bring more interactions with our Supervisors and our fellow AntiHeroes! Next chapter will bring out Evelyn (yay!) and definitely delve into more of the AntiHeroes plan for world domination (big surprise). Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!