(Hello, all! I apologize for the belated updating :/ I want to start a new story soon! But I'm waiting for my buds to read the 10th book so as not to spoil for them... sooo, when I publish it...read&rate, please? Please don't forget to read and rate this, too! ;D Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues or PJO.)

Chapter 3

Lethal Pack for Five

Mr. T and I remained silent as Mr. H came up behind us.

"Go on, read the article," Mr. H encouraged. I bit my lip. As I said earlier, I am not one for reading.

"Umm, here, Mr. T, you can read it," I pressed the newspaper into Mr. T's beefy hand.

"Uh, alright," Mr. T accepted the newspaper reluctantly. Mr. H looked annoyed, but he let Mr. T begin.

"'Earlier today, we received a missing plane report from…'" Mr. T read. The article went on to tell of how Pru's plane was meant to land in southern South Africa, a ways away from the Antarctica Peninsula. Despite mountains of snow around the crashed plane, grape vines were said to be sprawling endlessly from the plane exits. I didn't even really register that fact. I was still in shock. When would they get to the part about Pru?

Pruella and the plane pilot were mentioned, finally, at the end of the announcement. Mr. T's voice faltered at the last sentence:

"'Pilot Stephen Harris and passenger Pruella Parker…,'" not only were Mr. H and I listening eagerly, but so were the young orphans.

Mr. T gulped. "'…were not to be found."
-

I shoved my measly possessions into my small knapsack hurriedly. I was trying to be as silent as possible, but it was really hard to, considering my very loud wooden dresser drawers. About five minutes after I had started packing, I felt a soft tug on my windbreaker. I looked around and found a small, maybe a four-year-old, boy gripping my jacket. I had never seen him before, and that was strange, because there were only three other children at Mr. T's orphanage.

"Nikko? Where are you going, Nikko?" he asked me quietly. It irked me that the kid knew my name.

I hesitated. "Out," I answered stupidly.

"Out? With all your baggy and things, Nikko?" he cocked his head to the side.

"Yes," I replied, uneasily. "It's…it's almost time for lunch. You should go," I added, as I turned my back to him to make sure I had my compass in my knapsack.

"You lie," a much deeper voice commented. I wheeled around, to find Mr. H, right up in face. I jolted back.

"Mr. H? Uhh, where'd the little one go?" I asked weakly.

Mr. H groaned. "Look, kid, I go by a lot of names. Logios, lyre creator, Diactoros, Messenger, Agonios, Mercury, Psychopompos-"

"Psychopompos?" I snorted.

"Watch it, kid," he growled. I could see that this wasn't the usual jolly Mr. H who delivered our mail.

Mr. H raged on, "-but I do not like the name Mr. H, and let's not get into the Psychopomps business."

"Alright, alright," I tried to loosen the tension.

"Now to my point: I know you're running off," he stated.

"Naw, really?" I indicated to my knapsack.

Mr., uh, should I call him the mail carrier dude? Anyway, he raised his thick eyebrow. I cowered under it.

"Don't tell Mr. T, don't tell Mr. T," I pleaded repeatedly.

"Don't tell me what?" Mr. T asked as he walked in, sipping some herbal tea.

"Nothing," I said quickly.

"Nikko's running away," mail carrier dude informed my guardian.

"Tattle-tale," I hissed at the delivery man as I narrowed my eyes.

"I know. Go," Mr. T responded calmly.

"You can't stop me from- Wait, what?" I asked incredulously. The tattle-tale gaped like a fish just as I did.

"Go," Mr. T repeated. "I already know I won't be able to stop you. I never could stop my brother."

"You have a brother, Mr. T?" I asked, confused. I had always thought of Mr. T as some kind of lonely only child sort of guy.

"Had, more like," mail carrier dude folded his arms.

Mr. T brought his hand down hard on my bedside table and yelled at the mail carrier. "He's still alive! We just can't find him!" he bellowed. I winced at a shard of wood that flew my way.

"Sure, sure," mail carrier dude said calmly. Mr. T looked so sad. Stupid mail carrier dude. I didn't even really know the guy, but I hated him.

"Would you stop it already, Nikolai?" my new enemy exasperated," I have a name! I gave you a few already! I am not a 'stupid mail carrier traitor tattle-tale dude'! I'm not!" he yelled. Talk about anger issues.

"Whoa, cool it, Hermes!" Mr. T tried to cool the stupid mail carrier dude down.

"Gah! You're still thinking it!" he turned to Mr. T," And why do you let him call you Mr. T, eh?

The name is so drab. Even Apollo could do better!" Thunder rolled in the distance. Mr. T looked rather taken aback.

"Stop it, Nikolai Spasky, or I swear on the Styx, I will incinerate you on the spot!" the Hermes guy yelled.

Okay, I had heard bizarre threats before, like "I'll punch your brains out," and the like, but incinerating me? This dude was crazy.

"Oh, so now I'm crazy?" Hermes got up in my face.

"Yeah, you are!" I crossed my arms. Hermes looked ready to throw punches.

Mr. T stepped in front of us two. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy, guys," he ordered.

"Ha! You're telling me to take it easy? You think you're so big just because your daddy's got a lot of power! Well, you're not!" Hermes shrieked. He put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes.

"Nikolai, close your eyes!" Mr. T ordered. I shut them tight, but I could still see a bright light flash over my lids.

"You may open them now," Mr. T whispered. I opened my eyes and saw Mr. T packing a bag. The Hermes dude was nowhere in sight.

"What are you doing?" I asked Mr. T. He looked at me blankly.

"Packing," he answered quickly.

"Why?" I asked blankly.

"Nikolai, we've got about twelve hours before news reporters will swarm that crashed plane like flies to satyr droppings. It takes a while to pack for five," he explained.

"You're packing for five? Who?" I inquired.

"You, Shannon, Midge, Valentino, and myself," he replied simply.

"What? Mr. T-," I was cut short.

"You know, Nikolai, that name really is degrading. I'd like to be called by my first name."

"And what is that?" I frowned.

"Tyson. My name is Tyson," he smiled as stuffed what looked like about ten extremely sharp knives into a backpack.

"Tyson," I repeated, watching him pack more lethal weapons into his bag.

(Thank you for reading, please review! I love you all! ;D -WIB)