Disclaimer: The title of this chapter is a lyric from Camila Cabello's She Loves Control.

-3anona

CHAPTER 3: And There's No Way She'll Ever Stay Unless You Give It Up

Seems like my cavalry has bad reaction time.

I sighed and sat down, criss-crossing my legs. After an adrenaline rush, I usually hit the hay or have something sweet, like blue cookies and milk. If I don't, I may get nauseous.

Well, it isn't everyday one encounters, yet fights the Erinyes and lives to tell the tale.

"Your hands," Mr. Brunner's concerned voice breaks the silence.

"Wha-," I looked down and stopped short. My hand were bloody, with blistering and sizzling welts. My green hoodie was oddly intact, no rips, scorch marks, or even blood spatters. Can't say the same about my exposed skin, though. Fuck, mom's gonna kill me. There were cuts and slashes on my shoulders (cold-shoulder sweater/hoodie, remember?), and from mid-thigh to mid-calf- where my denim shorts and combat boots end.

How the fuck did I not feel this?

I mean, this definitely isn't my first rodeo, and not even the first including 'mythological' creatures. I know I have a high pain tolerance. But wha..

Confusion must've been evident on my face, 'cause next thing I know, there is a piece of chocolate? shoved in my mouth, and- mmmm. Mom's blue cookie goodness.

The tango of sensations was getting a little uncomfortable. I closed my mouth and shoved the offending limb away.

Grover quickly backed away. Probably still scared shitless. Pussy.

I raised an eyebrow but thanked him anyway. Mr. Brunner was putting away the leftover pieces into his jacket pocket (...that rhymes!)

"What in Mother Bitch's green Earth was that?" I asked, pointing. It was good. A little too good. So, not good.

He raised his eyebrows at my choice of words. Eh. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk here, child."

Okay. So two things to add to my I-don't-like list. Not getting information and being called a child.

"Sir," my voice was cold. "With all due respect, I am not accepting this answer. You may be my favorite teacher, by far, but that still doesn't give you a pass to feed me an unidentified something then saying we need to go talk somewhere else."

He didn't look like he was expecting that. "It is dangerous here for you. We need to go now." His voice was soothing like he was talking to a scared animal. Trust me Brunner, bad idea. In fact, I was too angry to even notice my wounds healing and blood slithering back to where it belongs.

"Of course, it isn't safe," I exploded. "I almost got mauled by the Erinyes. Hades' torturers. Which means goddamned Hades sent them. Hades thinks I stole from him. The Lord of the fucking Underworld went as far as sending his most trusted and ferocious servants after me! Which also means that it is very important to him. And even after all that I am trying to ignore the fact that millenia old deities are still around and one already has a motherfucking vendetta against me."

And, why the hell are they flinching every two seconds?

I was breathing heavily. I, also, belatedly noticed the thick mist in the air and water droplets on the ground and oh, fuck! Not fucking now!

"I also know you two know exactly what is happening and why." I was calming down, my hand fingering Kýma. I exhaled. Oh, thank fuck! It was a lot less humid now. "I also know that you are on my side. For now, atleast. But I am still not trusting you blindly, sir."

Grover looked sad. It could be because I'm ignoring him….

My thoughts were running rampant now. I automatically drowned out my teacher's voice. Yes, automatically. I pass my classes, but it has jack shit to do with teacher rants.

So, facts. My pre-algebra teacher is- was? Does getting vaporized count as quitting- a Fury. The triplet from hell almost killed me. I made them go poof. Hades has something important stolen from him. He thinks I stole it.

Hades, sure as fuck, is going to retaliate. An eye for an eye. Something precious for some… thing precious.

A look of horrified realization dawned my face, and I think I'd gone pale. Brunner stopped immediately. They looked at me with apprehension. The Furies couldn't scare me, so what the hell is?

"Mom," I breathed, before shimmying up the marble stone to the now open window.

"Mom," I breathed, before shimmying up the marble stone to the now open window.

I was halfway through New York before either of them understood. And moved to do something.

Mom is my precious something. He is going to take her as hostage, since threatening my life proved useless.

I made my way up the fire escape. I immediately headed to the little, grey weapons' room. She likes being their while writing her book, since she wasn't in the kitchen.

Please don't let me be late.

I almost sobbed in relief and launched myself at her. She caught me, of course. You know assassin- ah, former assassin- and all.

"I didn't think you'd miss me that much," she chuckled. But sombered up quickly when she saw my face.

I quickly explained to her what was going on. And by everything. I mean everything. From when my frustration triggered the water, till when I shot two officers in the leg and making a mad dash the last few yards here.

Apparently a joyriding twelve-year-old past the speed limit by no less than ten mph is illegal.

We were gearing up as I told my tale. Any other mother would've already called the nice people in white coats while being terrified. My ma, however, got more determinant. And I had no doubt that I made the right choice by telling her.

I was still in my shorts and sweater, my guns now fully stocked and extra ammo in the shoulder holster underneath the sweater, with Kýma in my jeans' waistband. My two dutch braids were okay, except for the butterfly-shaped balisongs- butterfly knives, very inconspicuous, I know- at the end of the braids, resting at my hips. Along with my new band rings on my middle fingers, my cuff bracelet on my wrist, and my groovy- hehe- leather gloves on.

Mom seemed to like and approve of my new arsenal.

Mom didn't look that different. Her fully stocked shoulder holster- you know, with guns, knives, grenades and glowy knives too- was underneath a white, flowy blouse tucked in slim-jeans. I have no doubt that their were at least two knives in her suede, ankle boots, as the two tall, thin ones holding her brown hair in tight bun.

"Okay let's go," she said grabbing her purse. "Our overnight duffel bags are in the car. Your phone? Headphone? You got the gem? Good."

Ah, my phone sweet phone. I love the thing. All my music is on this metal bugger. And mom's mutual tracking device. She knows where I am, and so do I. It also charges using almost any type of energy provided. It's custom made.

No way to hack into them, because there is stuff that can bring down countries and ruin lives and embarrassing baby pictures, or just pictures in general.

My almost-latest trophy, the baseball sized diamond, now looked like how 'diamonds' look, before it was just a big, retarded tennis ball. Mom is very resourceful when it comes to illegal stuff.

Like mother, like daughter, eh?

But before we head to the door, we freeze. Someone's banging on the door. Violently.