To 8Ball3- Cartoon Network just isn't the same anymore :( And he didn't murder someone, it's just... temporarily displaced/scared off/added to the hitlist, type deal :P And I feel like praetors shouldn't be Praetors TM all the time, you know? They're teenagers and, no offence to any teenagers reading this, but teenagers are one of the dumber stages of the human growth ^_^ Candyfloss is cotton candy to you Americans, but candyfloss is a much better word for it ^_^

Frank frowned at the screen. Louisa had gone for a nap, collapsing onto the bed for a grand total of twenty minutes. Then she awoke, swearing loudly at Jason (who was about ten thousand miles away and most definitely wouldn't hear her calling him a 'fuckin' ass-dumb'). Now, she had seemingly solidified into a statue, on the upper landing, staring at the camera as if she could see through the lenses and miles of wiring, straight at him. He knew that wasn't true, but he could not shake the feeling. He probably should have woken Reyna, but she needed her sleep and it wasn't like Louisa was doing anything… dangerous. Just creepy. Standing and staring like that, hands hanging limply at her sides as though she was a puppet and had her strings cut.

He could hear nothing over the audio- no rattling pipes or running water. He should let Reyna sleep, he could handle this for a little while longer. He flicked through the feeds from multiple cameras around the house, just double checking for any water damage. When he circled back to Louisa, she had disappeared.

"Well, that's not good." Frank mumbled, circling through again.

The front door was open.

Jason opened his eyes, regretting that instantly.

"Doctor Thorn." He said calmly. "Can I help you?" His substitute teacher snarled at him, towering over his bed. "Not creepy or anything." Jason continued in the same tone, slowly sitting up.

"Son of Jupiter," the monster hissed, pronouncing his 'J's like in Jacques, "death awaits you."

"It awaits everybody." Jason replied evenly, hand sneaking into his blazer. His knife was still there. Thorn growled low in his throat, a shadowy blur flashing behind him. It darted for Jason. He shot to the end of his bed, the shadow cleaving into his mattress and missing him by a hairsbreadth. The bedframe cracked and splintered, the shadow retreating harshly and showering mattress innards over the floor. "Mm." Jason said, regarding the monster again for a second. "Manticore." Thorn sneered, lunging.

Jason dived as the monster crashed onto the bed, reducing its frame to lumps of kindling. He had half a second to get to his feet, lurching backwards as Thorn swiped at his face, claws narrowly skimming over his nose. He slashed with the knife, Thorn was quicker. He propelled himself away and then forward again. The shadowy blur was his tail, snapping around. Jason ducked and the poisoned tip broke through the wall where his head had been.

"No!" Thorn wailed, stuck. He grabbed his tail and yanked on it, swearing in French. Jason swept in, bringing the knife down. Thorn anticipated him. He swung his arm out with a yell, smacking Jason in the chest. He crashed into the chest of drawers, lower back smarting and wheezing, a little winded. Thorn wrenched himself free, smiling.

Jason flipped the knife in his hand, readying it. He motioned to the monster, beckoning it closer. Thorn's smile twisted into a snarl and he charged.

Apollo was second down the steps, after Hazel. His ankles wobbled with terror. He remembered there was a reason he was down here, but he couldn't quite remember said reason at the moment.

The steps ended in a long corridor, its limestone walls decorated with rows of plaster death masks. He didn't think anything odd about it at first- many wealthy Romans kept a collection of death masks to honour their ancestors. Then he noticed the masks' expressions- each one was just as twisted and frozen in panic, agony, rage or terror as the carousel animals above. They were not tributes. They were trophies.

He glanced back at Meg and Lavinia. Meg blocked any retreat, the glittering unicorn on her T-shirt sneering at him. Lavinia met his eyes and nodded once, as if to say, yes, those masks are hideous, but not as hideous as you. Keep moving.

They followed Hazel down the corridor, every clink and rustle of their weapons echoing against the barrel ceiling. The tunnel split several times, but Hazel always seemed to know which direction to take. Every so often, she would stop, look back at them and point urgently at a section of the floor, reminding them not to stray from the path she stepped.

After what felt like hours, they begun to hear water dripping somewhere in front of them. The tunnel opened into a circular room like a large cistern, the floor nothing but a narrow stone path across a deep, dark pool. Hooked on the far wall were half a dozen wicker boxes like lobster traps, each with a circular opening at the bottom, just the right size for… The reason turned Apollo's blood cold. Each box was the right size to be fitted over a person's head. A tiny whimper escaped him. Hazel looked back questioningly. He half-remembered a story of how Tarquin executed one of his enemies by drowning him in a sacred pool- he bound his prisoner's hands, placing a wicker cage over his head. Then he slowly added rocks to the cage until the prisoner could no longer keep his head above water. It seemed Tarquin still enjoyed that method.

Apollo shook his head at Hazel, you don't want to know. Hazel, being wise, took his word for it and walked on.

"Lou!" Frank called.

"Louisa!" Reyna shouted three feet ahead of him. He took a step back at her tone. He had simply been calling for their missing friend, worried, cautious. Reyna yelled for her with every intention of wringing her neck and then some.

The Fifth Cohort had scrambled to their aid, their shouting gradually waking the other Romans. Even the Lares were helping, but not because they liked Louisa- because Reyna's glare was scary, even to them.

Calls for Louisa echoed through the barracks, across the Field of Mars, through the city and all over Temple Hill. Reyna had stationed half a dozen legionnaires in the stables. Storm was in there and would be Louisa's first port of call if she wanted to escape. The second port of call was the Bay. The First Cohort had that covered.

Frank had woken Reyna immediately. It turned out he could yell rather loudly, so he didn't have to resort to turning into a lion. Reyna was up and out the door, furious, in a second, slinging her praetor's cloak about her shoulders.

Reyna swore colourfully in Spanish. "Did she do anything else before she left?"

"No. Like I said, she was staring at the camera. Not moving."

"How long for?"

"Mm. Ten minutes?" He shrugged a shoulder. Reyna scowled and marched off.

"LOUISA!" She bellowed. "LOUISA!"

Hazel led them up a left-hand staircase. Then, for reasons known only to herself, she crossed the balcony and took the doorway on the right. They followed.

At the end of a short corridor, about twenty feet ahead, firelight illuminated another balcony with a skeletal railing. They couldn't see much of the chamber beyond it, but the space was clearly occupied. A deep voice echoed within- a voice Apollo recognised instantly.

Meg flicked her wrists, retracting her swords into rings. Lavinia tugged an oil cloth from her back pocket and draped it over her manubalista. Hazel gave Apollo a look of warning, though it was completely unnecessary. He knew full well what lay ahead- Tarquin the Proud was holding court.

They crouched behind the balcony's skeletal latticework and peered into the throne room below. Against the far wall, between two massive stone pillars, sat a sarcophagus chiselled with bas-relief images of monsters and wild animals, much like the creatures on the carousel above. Lounging across the sarcophagus lid was the thing that had once been Tarquinius Superbus. His robes had not been laundered in several thousand years. They hung from him in mouldering shreds. His body had withered to a blackened skeleton. Patches of moss clung to his jawbone and cranium, giving him a grotesque beard and hairdo. Tendrils of glowing purple gas slithered through his ribcage and circled his joints, coiling up his neck and into his skull, lighting his eye sockets fiery violet.

Whatever that purple light was, it seemed to be holding Tarquin together.

Three eurynomoi and half a dozen zombies milled around the room. Apollo got the feeling more lurked beneath their balcony. Even worse, the zombies- vrykolakai- were former Roman legionnaires. Most were still dressed for battle in dented armour and torn clothing, their skin puffy, their lips blue, gaping wounds in their chests and limbs.

Apollo winced, pressing a hand to his stomach. The pain there became almost intolerable. The words from the Burning Maze prophecy were stuck on replay in his mind: Apollo faces death. Apollo faces death. Apollo faces death. Apollo…

Beside him, Lavinia trembled, tearing up. Her gaze was fixed on one of the dead legionnaires. A young man with long brown hair, the left side of his face badly burned. A former friend, Apollo guessed. Hazel gripped Lavinia's shoulder- perhaps to comfort her, perhaps to remind her to be silent. Meg knelt on Apollo's other side, glasses glinting. She seemed to be counting the enemies, calculating how fast she could take them all down. Apollo had great faith in her sword skills- at least when she wasn't exhausted from bending eucalyptus trees. But these enemies were too many, too powerful.

He touched her knee for attention, shaking his head and tapping his ear. They were here to spy, not fight. She stuck her tongue out. They were simpatico like that.

Tarquin grumbled to himself.

"Anyone seen Caelius? Where is he? CAELIUS!" A moment later, an eurynomos shuffled in from a side tunnel. He knelt before the king and screamed,

"EAT FLESH! SOOOON!"

"Caelius," Tarquin hissed, "we've discussed this. Keep your wits." Caelius slapped himself.

"Yes, my king." His voice now had a measured British accent. "Terribly sorry. The fleet is on schedule. It should arrive in three days, just in time for the blood moon's rising."

"Very well. And what of our own troops?"

"EAT FLESH!" Caelius slapped himself again. "Apologies, sire. Yes, everything is ready. The Romans suspect nothing. As they turn outward to face the emperors, we will strike."

"Good. It is imperative we take the city first. When the emperors arrive, I want to be already in control! They can burn the rest of the Bay Area if they wish, but the city is mine." Meg clenched her fists until they turned the colour of the bone latticework. Ever since their experience with the heat-distressed dryads of Southern California, she had become particularly sensitive about evil megalomaniacs threatening to torch the environment.

Apollo gave her his best stay cool glare, but she wouldn't look at him.

Tarquin was talking again. "And the silent one?"

"He is well-guarded, sire." Caelius promised.

"Hmm." Tarquin mused. "Double the flock, nevertheless. We must be sure."

"But, my king, surely the Romans cannot know about Sutro-"

"Silence!" Tarquin ordered. Caelius whimpered.

"Yes, my king! FLESH! Sorry, my king. EAT FLESH!"

Tarquin raised his glowing purple skull towards their balcony. Apollo prayed he hadn't noticed them. Lavinia stopped chewing her gum. Hazel looked deep in concentration, as if trying to will the undead king to look away.

After a count of ten, Tarquin chuckled.

"Well, Caelius, it looks like you'll get to eat flesh sooner than I thought."

"Master?"

"We have interlopers." Tarquin raised his voice: "Come down, you four! And meet your new king!"

Jason's knife sank into Thorn's neck. He gasped for air, staring the monster down as it realised what had just happened. The point of its tail quivered less than inch from Jason's face, the fumes of the poison making his head hurt.

Thorn began to crumble. Jason took a step back, trying to catch his breath. He looked at the pile of yellow ashes on his carpet, then around his room, wincing. His bed was a pile of tattered mattress and splinters. His desk had shattered under Thorn's weight when Jason had kicked him away. The walls were shot full of breaks and holes from the poisonous tail.

In short, it looked like Louisa had come in with a sledgehammer. In long, there was absolutely no way Jason was going to be able to explain this. The sheer mass of damage and irreparability did not warrant a break-in excuse.

He found himself packing his bag. Some clothes, unicorn draught, his sketchbooks, the stash of emergency food he had stockpiled. A first aid kit and some matches. He tucked his knife into his jacket, zipping it up to his chin. He looked at the wreckage of his desk, unearthing a pen and a ratty bit of paper. Going home, he wrote, the stupid caught up with me. Sorry about the mess. Jason.

The diorama was next. He picked it up, balancing it on his palm. Then the list. He had tacked it to the wall, miraculously the only thing in the room, alongside the diorama, that had survived the fight. He pried it carefully from the wall, glancing it over. No, he wasn't leaving this. This was his set of reminders. It was too important to leave behind.

Folding the list neatly into his pocket, he moved to the window. With one hand, he slid the panel up. He looked over his shoulder, grimacing at the nightmare he was leaving behind. Then he jumped, the winds catching him and gently lowering him the three storeys to the ground.

Frank was used to swearing- he had heard teems of it upon the Argo II, for many, varied reasons and in many, even more varied forms. But that was from Louisa and everyone was used to that. He had to do a double- and triple-take when Reyna stomped her foot outside Jupiter's temple and yelled: "FUCK!" as loudly as she could.

"Um… what?" He asked carefully. She spun around, eyes blazing with fury, fists trembling.

"I know what she's done."

"What? Where is she?" Reyna frowned and realisation clicked in Frank's head. "She wouldn't."

"She would."

"But you said-"

"I know."

"They left hours ago!"

"I know."

"How is she-?"

"The same way she does that split-second disappearance thing that really pisses me off." Reyna adjusted the clasp of her cloak, grumbling more swear words. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to fucking kill her."

I can't believe I keep forgetting to put this, but I think we're on Day Three of Trump having Rona! Do you know how happy I was when I woke up and saw that? XD