Chapter 9
Kathleen loved to run, to burn off steam from her work. She jogged through the park and past a groups of kids playing ball. She didn't smile, however. It was all about the speed and power in the exercise. Kathy came to a slow stop, pressing two fingers to her throat and watching the seconds tick by.
"I'm gonna kill you, Connor!"
Kathleen turned to see what the commotion was. A boy with chestnut hair was running towards her chased by a six foot tall wrestler teen. The kid messed up majorly apparently. He aimed to low or he let the bat loose, but he became the target of a massive kid on the other team.
They ran around in circles, the younger boy always avoiding capture at the last moment. The cat and mouse routine continued until the younger boy came straight at Kathleen. He appeared not to have seen her, and they collided. She felt a short, sharp pain in her arm, and when she checked, there was a small pinprick of blood.
"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry." The boy sputtered. Kathy shook her head and forced a smile.
"It's fine. Nothing that won't heal." She said then walked away. Her head had begun to pound, and she just wanted to go home, to her bed. To find aspirin. But she didn't make it that far. She sat down on a park bench and closed her eyes.
Senator Rupert Miles was talking angrily on his phone. He burst through the rotating door of the Pierre Hotel, his assistant moseying on his tablet. He barked an order into his phone then hung up. He passed over his ID and credit card to the relatively young man behind the desk. The senator shook his head; Jackson couldn't be as young as he looked. The black hair and green eyes just gave him a younger tone.
"Will there be anything else, Senator?"
"No," he replied gruffly.
"Alright. I'll have a porter take your bags to your room." The attendant smiled and signaled to a blond boy astutely standing by a luggage cart. "Will, take Senator Miles's bags to room 775."
"Of course. This way, sir." The boy, Will, loaded the bags then led Sen. Miles to the elevators. The secretary was going to follow, but the attendant behind the desk called to him.
"Are you Michael McBride."
"Yes?"
"There was a problem with your credit card. It was declined."
"What? That's not possible..."
"Do you have a moment? We'll go over the details right now." The secretary was busy for over an hour. The attendant, Jackson, always found some discrepancy in the secretary's information or other.
In that time, the senator was chatted up by the porter. Will happily expressed his clichéd life. Although, the senator thought, he did somehow make sure we were the only ones in the elevator. Every time I meet someone and they recognize me, I have to listen to their mundane complaints of the economy, laws, annoying tickets, etc. The elevator opened to the seventh floor, and Will walked to the right, right, then left. The numbers 775 were carved elaborately in the plate next to the door. Will slipped in the card and motioned for the senator to go. The man complied and was rewarded with a dizzy feeling.
"Are you alright, sir? You look really pale."
"Fine. I—wheres's the bed?"
"Over there. Here—" Will helped the senator lie back. Soon, the senator lost consciousness.
The doctor came out into the hall. This work seemed much more boring than his last one. They called him now and then, but they hadn't needed him in a while. This boring repetitive work drove a man crazy. At least that was how Dr. Jonathon Theodore felt. The doctor checked his watch then his clipboard.
A voice over the intercom called, "Owner of the blue Mustang, license plate 894TDI, your car has been flagged in an improper parking slot. Please come down to security office." The doc swore and raced through the halls. He always parked in that spot. He tore into the parking garage and saw two men hooking something around his back tires.
"Stop! Stop that, right now!" The doctor was waving his arms madly. The two figures looked up and hailed him over.
"That—that's my car," the doctor heaved.
"It's parked in the wrong spot."
"No, it's not! I park where I always park."
One of the two boys scratched his face. "Nah, I don't recognize it. Travis?"
"Me neither, Connor."
"Define 'disappeared'."
The men cowered from the livid agent. He stood behind his desk, his hands clenched on the burgundy wood.
"Sir, the former annalist Kathleen Roberts never showed up for work. Sen. Rupert Miles was checked into his hotel but never seen after. Doctor Theodore. Some agents have been reporting falling asleep and objects moving around. Phones missing. I.D.s, badges, briefcases. They just—vanished."
"PEOPLE—DO NOT—JUST—VANISH!" Smith flipped the desk, sending it crashing towards the men in the corner. He breathed heavily for some time before calming himself to a tolerable level. "What was their last position."
"Some were in their homes. Some were out in the streets, in a café, a park."
"And what did the security cameras tell us?" No one spoke up, causing Smith to ask again.
"They—" the poor man who spoke could barely finish the sentence. "They were blank. Or—or blocked."
"So you are just here to report—nothing. Nothing to report, sir. Is that what you are telling me?" Again, no one dared to answer. "It's them. The demigods are fighting back. They are stealing our people like we stole them. But why?"
"Revenge?" One brave soul said. Smith glared but did not kill him like his instincts wanted. Smith rolled his neck, thousands little cracks popping.
"When and where was the latest kidnapping?"
"One day ago. The senator in his hotel room."
"Has there been any significant blips in security? Any man who has a higher security clearance and is in the mortal, modern world, right now?" The was a scramble in the room as the only annalist pulled her computer out and searched her files.
"Um, one man. Um, Hal. Hal Rogerson. Payed for a coffee at a local cafe in Manhattan. He's the teacher who trained the subjects who escaped the Mexican Academy."
Smith wasted no time but riffled through his overturned belongings and grabbed his gun. He marched out and practically ran out of the building.
"Get me a car!"
The man sat down at the corner table, far from the windows but able to see and hear everything. The little coffee shop was quiet, almost completely void of life. His being able to see everything included the pretty blonde girl at the opposite smiling at him. Of course, he smiled back, but it was more of a sneer. A waitress with copper hair and blue eyes lumbered over, lazily taking out her pad.
"Want anythin'?" She had a Bostonian accent, not fully completing the ends of her words. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. Something about her eye—eyes.
"Coffee. Black. No sugar." The waitress scrawled his order onto a receipt and took his credit card. The man didn't care. He was on his break, and he enjoyed the view of the blonde. She wore a tight shirt, white, and right jeans that showed the muscles of her thighs nicely. He watched her more, and she winked back at him. He was so intent on the girl, he missed the fact his waitress poured a powder into his coffee even though he had ordered no sugar. She slipped his coffee onto his table then gave a cup to the blonde girl. They both gazed back at him.
He took a sip, gagging at the horrid taste. He tasted what might have been xylitol. He was going to protest, but he felt drowsy. His eyes drooped. His lips wouldn't form the words, his throat couldn't even make a sound. Worry and angst tore at him, and he tried to stand but fell to the floor. The blonde got up and took his pulse.
"I think you put too much in. His pulse seems really slow."
"I don't think so. I put in as much as you said." The waitress shrugged.
"And how much was that?"
"Three tablespoons." Lyra replied. Annabeth gaped at her, pressing two fingers on the man's wrist and neck.
"I said three teaspoons, Lyra!"
"Isn't that the same thing? Anyways not all of it went in." Annabeth glanced at Lyra. "I poured it into my hand," she explained. Annabeth suddenly felt queazy and a little drowsy herself. She sat back and glared at her fellow fugitive.
"Tell me you didn't put everything in your hands?" Annabeth earned a blank stare. "Lyra!"
"How should I know you don't use your hands?"
"It's basic health codes, Lyra!"
"I don't care about his health. The bastard." Lyra gave a small kick to Hal. "Besides, you didn't care until I told you."
"Just don't go into the food business." Annabeth said with an impish smile. Lyra scratched at her eye, the blue contact felt like it was slicing her cornea. Lyra returned the smile and bent down to shift the bulk. Her face redended as she tried to lift him into a sitting position. Annabeth helped and barely managed to lift him back onto the chair. "Gods, what does he weigh? Like six tons?"
"At least. Come on, hurry up. We have to get out of here fast."
Annabeth took out a second pouch and sprinkled a blue powder into her hand. She knelt in from of Hal and blew it into his face.
"Oh, I can't sprinkle powder into mine but you can put it into your hand and blow it into his face?"
"Shut up." Annabeth chanted a few words in Ancient Greek, and Hal straightened an insane, clown-like smile popping onto his face.
"That's just creepy," declared Lyra.
Annabeth grabbed his arm then lifted him with more ease. Her voice was still squeaky with strain when she spoke. "I'll carry him for a bit, and then you take him until we get to the car."
"Whatever you say, Annie."
"Don't call me Annie."
Lyra smiled but caught a glimpse of a black car. The same black car that had passed a few minutes ago.
"Time to go. Come on," she said urgently and pushed Annabeth into a faster pace. Men swarmed out of the car and rushed the little cafe to find the three already exiting through the back. Lyra sent Annabeth down the back alley neighborhood. It was the outskirts of Manhattan, where a neighborhood of apartment complexes were off of the main roads. Lyra waited, her knife poised to attack. The first man who came out was easy prey. She sliced at him and knocked him out, using his body to stem the soldiers exit. Lyra ran down the alley but kept an eye at her back. She paused and turned around, raising her knife to eye level. Then she hurled it, end over end, at the exit. It should have hit. It should have struck agent Smith in the eye, ending him, but he caught it between two fingers, a manic smile playing his features cruelly.
"I think you'll find I am not such easy prey as my partner Jones." He jumped over the railing and charged at her, but Lyra was already turning corners and sprinting to Annabeth's side. Both Lyra and Annabeth prayed to their mothers for help.
Lyra P.O.V.
Like a sign from the gods, one of the apartment complex doors opened. I hefted Hal higher onto my and Annabeth's shoulders and limped to it. A boy, close to my age, was stepping out, but I shoved past him and grabbed his shirt to drag him back. He yelped and fell to the ground with surprise. Annabeth dropped Hal to the ground then slammed the door shut, closing the inner door as well. The boy tried to say something, but I clamped my hand over his mouth, putting a finger to my own lips. The boy nodded, wide-eyed.
Through the little window, Annabeth and I observed Smith and his men running past. He yelled orders to fan out and kept going. I let go a breath of relief. "We should be good for now."
"Good? Who the hell are you?" The boy hissed. He was staring intently at the unconscious man on the floor. Hal groaned but did not wake up. In the meager light of the hallway, I saw the boy had light-black hair and radiant blue eyes. He had a strong british accent, but not English. Like a mix of Irish and something else.
"It's complicated." Annabeth explained. She glanced around the hall. "Probably best you don't go out there right now." The boy's eyes, if possible, widened even more.
"Your parents home?" I asked lightly and with a smile on my face. He shook his head numbly and pointed to the first apartment. He probably thought we were threatening him so he opened the front door and let us in. Annabeth and I dragged Hal into the boy's living room. It was quaint, filled with little trinkets and antique furniture. Pictures of a smiling boy and, who I assumed were his parents and younger sister, lined the wall. He stood in the corner, watching us warily.
"We're not going to hurt you." I snatched the clicker from the coffee table and turned on the T.V. A James Bond film was playing across the screen. Goldeneye.
"Is he dead?" The guy asked.
"Who?"
"The guy you dragged into my house."
"Oh, no. He's alive." I said nonchalantly. He nodded and pursed his lips like he couldn't tell if that was an improvement. Annabeth ran around the room, sliding the curtains over the window.
"Where's your phone?" She asked urgently. He pointed to the kitchen, and she hustled off. I awkwardly sat down. I wasn't that good at keeping conversations going, at least ones that the other person didn't find awkward. Especially when it started with dragging an unconscious hostage into the guy's house.
"You gotta name?" I asked. He stared at me. "What?" I was a little unnerved by his unblinking incredulousy.
"You serious?"
"Yeah. Why?"
He flailed his arms around, making indesicive noises and exasperated sounds. "You and your friend drag a dead guy int—"
"He's not dead."
"—He looks dead!"
"He's smiling!"
"That doesn't make it better! You drag him into my home and practically threaten me into staying in here, and now you're asking me my name?"
"Yeah. I'm Lyra. That's Annabeth." I persisted. He dropped his head to his chest and shook his head. Softly, I mind-wandered to confirm my suspicions. He was hiding a smile.
"Mord." He said it with a soft "D", like pronouncing the echo of the letter. The way Brits pronounce half their vocabulary. I fought to suppress a smile. I loved his accent.
"And Mord is short for..."
"For a different time." He was saved from me trying again by Annabeth coming back into the room.
"I called Percy. He is working on a way to get us out. He said stay here until he can find a shadow traveler."
Mord glanced between us, trying to comprehend the words. Some shouting came from the street. I didn't even need to check. The soldiers were back and combing the street. In no time, a bang came from the hallway, and more talking went on. An urgent knock rattled the door.
"Mord, please. Don't tell them we're here," I begged. I searched his crystal blue eyes and recieved a curt nod. He pointed to a room by the living room. "I swear I'll answer any question you have. Just don't tell them we're here."
"Go in there." He watched Annabeth and I drag the limp body of Hal into a bedroom. Annabeth crouched away from the door and stuck Hal behind it. I stood behind the door, it cracked open enough to see silhouettes of the living room. Mord took a breath and as a last thought turned the volume on the T.V. up then opened the door. "Can I help you?" He asked in his perfect accent. Two ordinary monster soldiers stood in the hallway.
"We're looking for two fugitives. Mind if we search the premises?" Mord stepped back from the door and waved them in. I held my breath.
"Fugitives? What did they do?"
"Treason. Anyone else here?" One soldier came very close to the bedroom. He made to open the door but thought better of it and walked to the kitchen.
"I've been alone all day. My Mam and sister went away for the week. My Dad's at work."
"Did you hear anything? See anyone?"
"Mm, I heard some shoutin' earlier. And two girls and a guy went runnin' by. Turned down to the Main Street maybe. Or they could've gone straight. Didn't see really."
The soldier who had asked the questions eyed Mord. "If you didn't see anything, how did you know it was two girls and a man?"
"Cause I heard shouting. I got up from my movie and saw the group running through the street." Mord walked back to the door and held it open. "Now if you don't mind." The soldiers glanced around once more then obliged.
"You hear or see anything more..."
"I'll tell you." Mord slammed the door in their faces. I waited until I heard the last of the combat boots left the hallway then came out. Mord was looking out the window. "Stay away from the windows."
"Thank you," Annabeth whispered. Mord shook his head.
"Why are you fugitives?"
Annabeth glanced at me warningly.
"No, you swore you'd tell me. I can call them back right now."
"They kidnapped us and imprisoned us." I said shortly.
"Why?"
"Lyra—" Annabeth warned. She grabbed my arm and forced me to face her. "You can't tell him," she hissed in Greek. I glared at her and shook her off.
"I don't understand Greek." I hissed back, which was partially true. I comprehended greek but not as expertly as Percy or Annabeth. I didn't get to explain it because there was another knock at the door, but this one was trepidous. I spanned out with my mind and felt the presence of a girl. It was dark and black but friendly. "Percy's friend is here." Mord opened the door and was unceremoniously pushed out of the way.
"Katia." Annabeth said. She didn't sound happy but not unhappy. The girl smirked and nodded to the door. Nico was guarding the entrance.
"C'mon. Your security friends are still outside, and I don't fancy getting caught." Katia glanced at me then at Mord. Annabeth nodded, collected Katia to fetch Hal from the bedroom, and cautiously stepped into the hall. Quickly, I snatched a pen and paper and wrote down my name.
"For future reference." I got on my tiptoes and pecked Mord on the cheek. "Thank you." I didn't look back but joined Annabeth and Katia in the foyer. I clasped my hand in Katia's and prepared for the shadow travel. My stomach lurched and I felt like I was falling from a roller coaster.
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