Chapter 25

I Get a Pep Talk from Cupid (Sort Of)

By the time I made it to the others they'd all grouped up. The fact I was practically limping, exhausted to the core, probably had something to do with why I was the last there.

The Bronze Regiment was gathered in a tight circle, everyone talking at once. I couldn't catch a word with so many voices. Then Victoria spotted me and forced her way out.

"Percy!"

I grunted as she tackled me, my shaky legs sending us both to the ground. By the time I sat up she was already off of me, bouncing around pumping both fists.

The golden barrier was still intact above us, lighting the night sky. Victoria's left cheek was marked by dried blood, and there were smudges of sweat and exhaustion from under her eyes to her forehead. Twigs were tied up in her black hair. She looked like she'd lost a brawl with the forest floor, and I'd never seen her look near as happy.

"We won!" She chanted. "Won, won, won!"

"Thanks to this guy," Alyssa said. Even she was smiling as she pointed to the center of the human circle.

With Victoria out of the way I could see the whole regiment had clumped around John. He was blushing and looking at the ground, the shards of the Iron Regiment's vase still in his hands.

"Yeah!" said Emmitt. Then he frowned. "But, wait, what actually happened? One second we're about to lose and then bang, we're winning. I like it, but I don't get it."

John stuck his toe in the ground and twisted his ankle in circles. "I got the idea at halftime," he said, "when we caught the person spying."

"Wait." Victoria quit celebrating just long enough to look over. "You caught someone spying?"

"Sure did," Emmitt said. "I tackled them."

"He did," I confirmed.

"Anyway," John said, "that gave me an idea. People don't notice me much. I'm average and, well, boring. Even my name is forgettable. As soon as they look away from me people forget I exist. I thought I might as well use that."

Emmitt's eyes widened. "You can just do whatever you want? And nobody notices you? That's awesome."

"It's not that useful," John said. "I can't do anything direct. If I touch someone they'll notice right away, and if they keep looking at me there's no time for them to forget. I'm not invisible or anything."

Victoria bounced over to him, still full of energy. "How'd you get to this thing then?" She grabbed the shards from the vase and let them fall one by one back into John's hand. "They would've been guarding it like crazy."

John shook his head. "I just waited. I followed them when they first hid the vase and just stood behind a tree. If they looked up and saw me I'd duck out of sight, and they never came to fight me. Eventually all of them rushed off and left it undefended for some reason. I don't know why."

"Me," I said, the pieces coming together. "Six of them went after me. That's their whole team, so it must've been undefended then."

"Well, when that happened, I just snuck in and grabbed the vase and ran. I waited to the end to smash it so that they couldn't recapture anyone. I'm just surprised it actually worked."

"Don't be!" Victoria slapped him on the back. "I expect such strategies from my subordinates!"

It was the first time I'd seen everyone laughing and happy. It was nice, but at the same time a remnant of the paralysis was lingering on my spine, keeping me uneasy. As far as wins went that had been as close as they came. If we brought that same level against the undefeated Gold Regiment, we were toast.

I shook myself. There was time to worry later, when we got closer to next week. Now was time to celebrate.

O-O-O-O-O

I'd love to say we threw a killer party as soon as we got back, but by the time we climbed the mountain and took the stairs to our homebase it was well past midnight. Within fifteen minutes every one was tucked into bed snoring.

If only the sleep that came was equally relaxing. No sooner had I fallen asleep than the dream started.

I was in a cave, somewhere far from California if the icicles on the ceiling were anything to go by. The only light came from a flashlight, the figure holding it sprinting as fast as he could through the dark.

"Come on, come on," they mumbled, shooting glances over their shoulder.

The moment they rushed past I was yanked along after them, as if a rope was tying us together at the waist. What sounded like eagle screeches echoed from further back, and somewhere outside deep booms sounded, accompanied by tremors in the cave walls.

Another screech, this one the closest yet, and my unknowing guide cursed. "Blyat."

I willed myself closer to get a look at them. It was a guy- a tall one, with decent muscles and feet that could only fit in size sixteen sneakers, which might've explained why he was wearing bright orange flipflops. He was dressed in a tank top and shorts. I felt cold just looking at him. I figured he must've been freezing, too, because his skin was slightly blue.

I'd just finished my inspection when a light came into view up ahead. The guy put his head down and added a burst of speed, pulling me along at speeds I never could've reached in tennis shoes let alone sandals.

We tore through an opening into a much bigger, much grander cave.

Here the ceiling was three stories high at least, with fissures letting in grey rays of natural light. The room was the size of an amphitheater, but instead of a stage at the center it was the largest pile of treasure I had ever seen.

I'm talking golden doubloons, precious gems, glittering weapons… every type of goody you can imagine. It was thirty feet tall in places, coating half the room. Without hesitation flipflop guy dove straight into one of the deeper areas.

After a few seconds of squirming he was totally out of sight, only his eyes peeking through little gaps.

Nothing happened for a minute. The walls shook a little from a distant explosion. A sword, straight edged and slightly rusty, slid from the top of the treasure pile to land next to the guy's hiding spot. Then something appeared at the entrance.

Its steps sounded like knives slicing through gravel. Whatever it was stopped just short of the light, but its yellow eyes still glowed. It wasn't human. The thing was the size of a car, and walking on four legs. I could just make out a tail flicking behind it. It opened its mouth and screamed.

The shriek pinged off the walls and rattled the treasure. Flipflop guy flinched in his hiding spot. The creature took one step into the room, revealing a leg coated in golden fur with a nasty set of claws at the end, and the scene disintegrated.

My eyes snapped open. I sat up, sheets stuck to my legs with sweat, and looked around.

Everyone was asleep. Out the window the sun was just barely peaking up, putting the time at around dawn. In the bed next to me Emmitt snored and mumbled in his sleep.

"No, silly, not that rake."

I sat for a second, trying to clear my head. Unless the competition had taken more out of me than I thought, that dream had been real. Somewhere, for some reason, that guy had hidden from something-or-other in a pile of gold. But what it meant? I was stumped.

It had gotten to me though. Blood was pounding in my ears like I'd been the one on the run. There was no shot I'd get back to sleep anytime soon. I slipped out of bed, thankful that I hadn't bothered undressing before collapsing, and headed out.

I got about halfway across the courtyard before realizing I had no idea where I was going. The chilly air stung my nostrils. I still had a few hours before my shift to watch Bianca started, but I headed for the main building anyway.

If I expected it to be empty I was proven wrong fast. If anything there were more monsters than usual, heading to the dining hall in groups and wandering the halls belching and laughing. A few looked my way and nodded.

"Good fighter!" proclaimed a passing Laistrygonian. I mumbled a confused "Thank you." wondering if I'd gone crazy and missed it.

Kurt hadn't hit me in the head, had he?

Before long my feet carried me to a path I knew. I was on one of the higher floors, near where Victoria dragged me to give her 'recruitment pitch'. The view that had been great then would only be better now, with the sun coming up. I guessed maybe it would be pretty enough to distract me from the uneasiness that dream had left in my gut.

Only, when I actually stepped onto the balcony, someone was already there. A man in a stylish vest and designer jeans, fiddling with a potted rose in the corner. I was about to head the way I'd come when he spoke, noticing me without turning around.

"Hello there. Here for the view?"

"Oh, uh- I mean I was," I said. "Don't worry about it. I don't want to hog your balcony."

"Stay, stay. Views are enhanced by company."

"Alright," I said, wishing I'd managed to slip away before he noticed me. Leaving now would be too rude. I took a seat at one end of the stone bench.

Neither of us spoke for a minute. He kept working on the rose plant, humming a ballad while I tried not to stare.

"And there we go." With one final clip the man turned around, and I couldn't help but blink.

I'd seen bigger, buffer guys before. But this guy was perfect, just the right amount in every place, all of it perfectly defined. Blue eyes peeked through brown bangs, perched on the perfect pedestals that were his cheekbones. His lips were full, his nose exactly the right size, all his features the best sort of average. He looked like a composite of every Hollywood star's best feature.

I stared mutely, taken aback, and he slid onto the bench beside me.

"Ahh," he sighed. "Much better. Really, roses take so much work to keep perfect. Clip this not that, water exactly here… Well, I suppose that is why I love them."

"Who are you?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Straight to the point. Blunt, even. Ladies love that in a man. As long as you know when to come out with it and when to hold back."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

"Good, good." He brushed his bangs to the side and then held out his hand. "Eros, young man. A pleasure to meet you."

There was a trill in the way he said pleasure, like the word came more naturally from his lips than any other. I took the hand.

"Percy."

"Oh, I know." He slipped his hand away and set it on the bench. "You are far too interesting a mortal not to."

Well, that wasn't creepy at all. Did every person on the mountain know exactly who I was?

"Really," he carried on, "You've no idea how much work you'll give me in the future. How much entertainment."

"You know my future?" I asked. It wasn't unheard of for immortals – and he definitely was one – but that didn't mean it was the norm. At my question, he laughed again.

"Some I know, some I don't. None have ever described me as studious, and I can't disagree." He leaned toward me, uncomfortably close, with the look of an artist in his eyes. "But look at this face. Those eyes! It's young, yes, but what's to come can already be seen. It will trail behind you, of that I'm certain."

I leaned away. "Sorry, what will? As a general rule I like my behind un-trailed."

"Desire," he said. "Want. Need. It always follows your type. The dashing hero. That mix of looks and deeds that spawns emotions like nothing else. You will not be the first to experience it, and luck be with me, not the last, either."

All of a sudden it clicked in my head.

"You're the Eros. You're Cupid."

He waved his hand. "Correct the first time, wrong the second. Really, you do not want to meet that guy. He's got an even shorter fuse than I do!"

Eros laughed uproariously and I chuckled along with him, even though I didn't get the joke.

"But that is me. God of love, affection, and desire. From slight crushes to full blown obsession, you've got me to thank for it."

The sun was really coming up now, lighting the hills and making the ocean glitter like the gold (treasure?) from my dream. I would've enjoyed it more if I wasn't acutely aware that an immortal was sharing my bench.

"You tend these plants even though you're a god?" I asked, looking at the two perfectly manicured rose bushes set up in the corners.

"Oh, yes." Eros said. "Even the fountain was my own touch."

"But couldn't you just like, snap your fingers and magic everything until its perfect? Doing it by hand seems like a waste of time."

He sat for a minute, looking at me from the corner of his eye. Then he let out a loud, belly splitting laugh that still managed to sound melodic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. "I do not mean to be rude. It is just that, an immortal wasting time? All we have is time! Time to do a million things, and still time to do a million more. We do not die. Even after their defeat, the titans still had time. A millennia of torture to stew and plot. And we – us minor gods – what did we have? Time to live, but not time to rule. That was reserved for twelve only. Even those like me, with power of their own, were merely an afterthought. Thousands of years as my mother's lieutenant. It's like promotion is not in their vocabulary!"

"Are the benefits any good?"

"Not like they should be," Eros sniffed, still smiling. "I believe I got somewhat distracted. You had asked why I work by hand. My answer to you is, what else am I to do? If everything is finished with a snap of the fingers I'll grow bored. And that, is a fate worse than death."

The ADHD in me agreed wholeheartedly.

"Enough about me, though," Eros said. "I wish to hear about you. What brings you here so early? And the morning after a feat no less."

I snorted. "Some feat it was. I spent half the time paralyzed."

"And won."

"Sure. This time."

"That's the only time that matters, isn't it?" Eros cocked his head. "Allow me to frame it this way. If you ask out your crush and she agrees, it's a wonderful thing. Maybe the first date could have gone better. You spilled spaghetti sauce on your best white shirt, what a klutz! But at the end of the night she says she'll see you again. You've done enough- what matters now, is improving for the second date."

I stared at him. "Was that whole example really necessary?"

"No," he admitted. "But it isn't always about saving time, remember? Life loses its art when you're in a rush."

I kept quiet and thought about what he was saying. He had a point. By winning the match we'd done all we had to. The Gold Regiment might still be better than us, but we had a week before we faced them, and a week ago beating the Iron Regiment had seemed crazy. We had time and, most importantly, we had a chance. The only way we lost that chance was if I we gave up hope before trying.

Apparently something changed in my face, because Eros's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"I like that expression much better."

He was nodding appreciatively. Then he turned, still smirking, and looked out at the horizon.

The sun was all the way in view now. Yellows and oranges painted the clouds. In the opposite direction cars snaked along the 101, morning commuters headed for the city. Most of San Francisco was blocked from view, but you could still spot the Bay Bridge stretching across the water toward Oakland.

"Nice view," I said.

"It's the cars I like best." Eros gazed down at the freeway.

"I didn't take love for a car guy. Do you work on transmissions between flower bushes?"

"It isn't about the vehicles. It's about the distance." He held up his hands as if holding a compound bow, two fingers pulled back. "Miles off, traveling seventy, eighty, even ninety miles an hour. Could I hit it? One arrow, straight to the driver. All of a sudden he can't get the waitress that served him morning coffee off his mind, even though he has a wife and two sons back home. His life changes completely… or it doesn't."

"Why?"

It was like the question didn't compute. Eros's forehead crinkled, puzzled. "I said, didn't I? It's a challenge. I take my archery seriously."

The morning was only getting warmer with the sun coming up, but I suddenly felt cold. Right. Even if he was being amicable, Eros was still a god. He might've had incentive to help me out, but mortals weren't even people to him. Like bark on a tree, waiting to be used as archery targets.

"Do you think you could do it?" I asked, suddenly possessed by a strange need to know. "Hit a driver from here?"

His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth. "In thith wind," he said, protruding tongue giving him the lisp of a Kallikatzaroi, "I think the anthwer ith yeth."

And he straightened his two fingers, letting the make-believe arrow fly. By the time I looked back, I was the only one on the bench.

O-O-O-O-O

Hours later I jogged downstairs, all the way to the first floor. I don't know if it was some parting magic from Eros or the warmth of the sun, but I'd nodded off right there on the bench. This time my dreams stayed peaceful, and when I drifted awake it was with newfound energy.

It was also half an hour into my guard shift.

"Your late," Bianca said when I'd passed all the kitten paintings and pushed open the door to her cell/room. She was still in bed but on top of the covers, an open issue of The Gabbing Gorgon magazine laying over her face like a sloped roof. The cover declared NEMESIS SAID WHAT! and A DEEP DIVE INTO HEBE'S SKINCARE ROUTINE!

I took a seat in the desk chair, the only other seat in the room. Bianca must really not have been able to see, because she didn't even tell me to move.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "That was probably the highlight of your week."

"I will neither confirm nor deny," said the magazine.

I tapped the floor with my foot, thinking about what conversation to try – and fail – to start today. I figured wearing her down would be a battle of attrition. Luckily, I was one stubborn kid.

"So, The Gabbing Gorgon, huh?"

Silence.

"Is it interesting?"

"Yes," she said. "So interesting. Can't you tell from how closely I'm reading it, an inch from my face?"

"Cool."

She sat up. The magazine slid off her face and tumbled into her lap. "I was being sarcastic."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrow. "Gods, I couldn't tell at all."

Staring at me with her lips pursed, she looked young. I'd been meaning to get her exact age from Luke for a while, but she couldn't have been older than twelve. Too young, I thought, wondering if that made me a hypocrite.

"Maybe I should ask to have the guards that don't speak back."

"Since when do prisoners get to choose who guards them?"

"I thought I was a guest," she said, "not a prisoner."

"Guests can leave their rooms."

"Great! So if you could just go open the door for me…"

"No can do." I shook my head. "They'd probably feed me to a drakon, or maybe something even nastier."

"That's perfect then," Bianca mumbled, but she must've felt at least a little bad because she went quiet after and wouldn't meet my eyes.

I sighed and pulled out Aelia. It had been a good attempt. Sometimes I only got a word or two, so this was a great success. I turned my attention to planning.

I'd taken Eros's advice to heart. It was time to focus on facing the Gold Regiment, and improving so that we'd have a real chance. The first step, I figured, was coming up with an actual strategy. If there was one thing Kurt showed us, it was that putting everything on my back wasn't good enough. Unfortunately there was a difference between knowing your old strategy was bad and replacing it with a better one. After a few minutes of staring blankly while tapping Aelia on the desk, I turned to Bianca.

"Can I borrow a sheet of paper?"

She looked at me suspiciously. "What do you want it for?"

"Creating battle tactics. Honestly! If you don't believe me you can look over my shoulder."

"Alright," she agreed after a second. "It's inside the desk. Just don't touch the pictures."

What I didn't expect was for her to take my offer. But by the time I'd pulled out a blank sheet she was standing behind me, looking expectantly.

"You actually want to watch?" I asked.

"What, I can't? I'll take my paper back."

"No, you can, but it won't be all that interesting. You'll get bored."

"Well, what else is new," she said.

With a shrug, I focused on the paper. It was her (bad) choice.

Fun fact about Aelia: if you twist the eraser clockwise before you press on it, you've got a regular mechanical pencil in your hands, led and all. To date this was the second time the function had been used, and the first was when Dedalus showed it to me.

"You brought a mechanical pencil to guard duty?" Bianca asked.

"Sure," I said, trying not to snicker. "Let's call it that."

Like the tactical genius that I was, I started by drawing a vase in the center of the page. I did it a little too big though, and it was lopsided so one edge was wider than the other. I erased and tried again while Bianca snickered behind me.

"You're – snort – quite the artist."

"Could we keep the input positive?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Your fault for inviting me."

My second attempt came out good enough to keep. From there I started doodling little trees, adding eight stick figures in between them. Then I put the halfway line, and drew it all again on the other side. That was where I came up empty.

I'd hoped getting it on paper would bring a flash of inspiration, and I'd quickly scribble a bunch of arrows showing how we would flawlessly outmaneuver the Gold Regiment. Instead I was just as lost as before, but now with a visual reminder of what I was failing at.

"Are you drawing you and your friends at recess or something?"

Bianca had leaned over my shoulder, staring at my drawing. She seemed in a good mood, possibly because my own was so bad. "What'll you add next, a tetherball?"

"It's a wargame," I explained absently. Any other time and I would've been thrilled at how much she was talking, but right now I was frustrated. "The two teams fight to capture each other and protect those vases."

"What happens if you get to the vase?"

"If you break it, everyone the other team caught is released."

"And how do you know who wins?"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, willing my brain to think. "Whichever team has more people when the time ends."

"See?" Bianca stood up with an exasperated sigh. "I knew you were thinking about recess. You're just coming up with strategies for Kick the Can."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatev-" My brain caught up with what she'd said. "Wait, what was that?"

"This game. It's kick the can." Bianca strolled around to stand beside the desk, shaking her head. "I mean, it's a little different. Usually you only have one defender. But the rest? You try to get to the can, the defender tries to stop you, and if you're caught you're out until someone gets the can."

"Vase," I corrected.

"Vase," she said, rolling her eyes. "Same thing. The fundamentals are all the same. Believe me, I'd know. We used to play it all the time growing up. Everyone did."

"It's that popular? I've never even heard of it before."

She looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "Where did you grow up, under a rock?"

"Not quite. Manhattan, Upper East Side."

"Then I guess you just didn't have friends."

I chewed my lip but let it drop, because she wasn't actually wrong. Still, even if my elementary school days weren't spent rolling in popularity, 'kick the can' wasn't the go-to game on any blacktop I'd ever been to.

"So you know how to play?" I asked.

She grinned. "Know how to play? You're looking at the neighborhood champion, three years running. I would kill to play again, not even Nico could keep up with me."

A moment after the words left her mouth her smile disappeared. Luke's words came back to me: the shock of losing her brother. I could already see her retreating into herself, reverting to silent and gloomy, and rushed to do something – anything – to stop it.

"My mom's dead!"

On the plus side, it worked (Go Percy, conversation starter extraordinaire!). Bianca was caught so off-guard she just stared, her mouth hanging slightly open like a fish's. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"She died when I was seven. My dad wasn't supposed to have any more kids, took an oath and everything. The fact that I exist means he went back on his word. When his brothers found out, they weren't happy. At all."

"What happened?" Bianca asked softly.

I shrugged. "They sent monsters. My mom wouldn't give me up, and eventually they- well, she died. I would've too, except I got lucky. Someone took me in and fixed me up."

I slipped the glove off my left and rapped it against the opposite ankle. The room filled with metal pinging, and Bianca took a step back.

"Those are metal? That is so weird."

"This whole world is. I watched the sun come up with a god this morning, right after he trimmed a rose bush. Once you're around crazy long enough you get used to it."

"How?" Bianca asked, and I was shocked by how genuine – how desperate – the question sounded. There wasn't any more sarcasm or quips, just a girl who couldn't understand a thing around her.

"I even tried reading that stupid magazine," she said, tossing her head to where The Gossiping Gorgon lay splayed on her bed. "I thought maybe if I read about this world I'd be able to consider it all real. I didn't make it halfway through. Dragons, monsters, gods, you'd have to be crazy to believe in that stuff! But when they're literally keeping you in their basement, you'd have to be crazy not to believe it. I don't want to be crazy!"

"You're not," I said. "Take it from me; I've met crazy. You aren't even throwing knives or talking in alliteration yet, so I figure you're plenty sane."

"But what if you aren't?" Bianca sighed, running trembling fingers through her hair. "Pent up in this room I don't know anymore. I just don't know."

All of a sudden I felt the flash of inspiration I'd been after earlier, only this plan didn't have anything to do with kick the can tactics. It might take a little work, but it seemed doable. I started forming my pitch for Luke on the spot.

"Hey," I said. "You know how you were saying how badly you wanted to play kick the can again? I've got this idea…"

(-)

Still *mostly* on schedule. Hurrah.

A review asked about the timeline after last chapter, so I figured I should pop in a bit of clarification. Percy spent six years with Dedalus before meeting Andi, from ages seven to thirteen. Currently we're very close to the time of the Titan's Curse, but don't expect cannon events to suddenly start. Percy not being around drastically changed events in 2006 when he normally would've been on a quest for Zeus's master bolt, and the butterfly effect has only rippled wider in the time since. More and more of those changes will appear as the story progresses. I'll try to add more comments about where we are chronologically going forward- in general, relying on author's notes for clarification is bad writing practice I try to avoid.