Dear Reader;

I know this is late. REALLY late, in fact, but I haven't been on fanfiction recently, and this was slated to be my chapter, so…

Yeah. I know. Months and Months and Months.

BUT now I've got an idea formed, so at least you won't have to wait ANOTHER fifteen zillion months for the next update!

Right?

Am I right?

Good to know you had so much faith in my guys, really, I appreciate it.

Anyway, happy reading,

Neohtan the Wise (who kills Monsters for a living)

2

A perfusion of red. Dripping from tables, encrusted in carpets, spattered on walls. Untouched by posterity in a futile quest for justice, curling in its greedy grasp around everything, everywhere, suffocating, crawling, the lifeblood of someone far too young to die.

Evidently, evidence would not be a problem.

"Like I said," a gruff, Brooklyn and Cigar infested accented accosted me, "You find the guy, the case is closed before it opens. I don't know about Olympus or Earth but… someone's gonna kill the slimy bastard who did this."

For once, I wasn't smoking. Nectar heals, so I didn't have to worry about choking myself to death, but it wasn't exactly professional to go around with an oversized beer can full of glowing yellow stuff at a crime scene. Mortals didn't like that, and it seemed like they were trying to make me claustrophobic in the cramped and entrail- decorated space. At the door to the former apartment of the late Percy Jackson hulked a pair of guards, oversized for their uniforms and looking all too desperate to shoot something. For some reason, even my own kid didn't respect my privacy.

"I need access," I said, pacing about the cramped little room where the insatiable sound of traffic fluttered in through the bloodstained curtains. Bad practice, that. Though certainly helpful for the stench, any leftover Fury dust would scatter with the breeze. Of course, Mortals wouldn't mind, they'd see any monstrous remains as a trick of the lights, or a patch of dust left over from the killing. Still, Charlie King should've known better.

"To what?" The kid, all of forty- something now and sporting a reflective skull crammed desperately into a shrinking police cap, replied.

"Everything." My fingers did an involuntary jig as I paced around Percy's gore-smeared sofa. I reallywanted that Cigarette now.

"You know I can't do that." The kid was really starting to annoy me, all puffed up with his hands clamped on his hips with all the professionalism of an oversized newborn chimp with a shiny badge to play with.

"Really?" I said, "Your dear old Dad? Who was it that brought you to that goddamn camp anyway? Who was it that saved your sorry ass from being roasted by a pack of Cyclops and choked down with an oversized dose of Teriyaki sauce?"

The kid spun around, clomping every step of the way, "Get out," he spat to the pair of confused looking full time mall cops standing awkwardly at the door. New York's finest. Sure.

"Look, Charlie. You know what this means. If this kid had been attacked by a human, the assailant would be dead in seconds. Furies of Hades practically piss themselves when they hear his name. This had to come from higher up. Someone in Olympus wants him dead."

"And they succeeded, didn't they?" Charlie said, walking his ridiculous cop-walk around the tape where the body used to lie. I cringed at that one. Gods, me included, only knew what still lingered around the former corpse of Percy Jackson, waiting to infest anyone who screwed around with his death.

I laughed, "Of course they did, but he's in Hades now, isn't he? And no-one can see him. Solitary confinement, they said. I know: I called. Who the hell gets solitary in the Underworld?"

Charlie shrugged. "With his record, you never know. Hades could still be pissed at that lightning incident a few years ago."

"So no mortal help? The biggest Goddamn case of my latest life on Earth?"

He sighed. I frowned. I hate kids. Especially my kids.

"I know what this is all about," he said, stomping closer (why did he have to walk like that?), "you'd never take a risk like this for money, I know you. Unless you've got something for Annabeth Chase, and I hope to Zeus you don't if you've seen her mother recently, this is all revenge. You want to see the old man's face when you bring charges against him."

Hah, I thought, he saidcharges. God of Lightning, right? Har? No? Christ, you're a terrible audience.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" He shouted, suddenly. Oh, right. He was still talking. It's so easy to just drift off with mortals.

I shrugged, "What's between me and Zeus is between me and Zeus, OK? Good. You're better than that, or at least I hope you are," I paused, a habit. After 500 years, it took a while to realize there was no tobacco in my hand.

"She offered you something, didn't she? Something big."

I grinned for once, plonking myself down on that big, Percy-soaked sofa, "Yeah. Sure she did, that's what they all do, genius."

"No," He frowned, pursuing me with every step, "something big.Something you couldn't refuse. But I'm gonna warn you, don't take it. Not from Athena."

"This has nothing to do with her."

"She offered you an acquittal, didn't she? Big money and a nice throne warmer?"

He must've seen my expression. How couldn't he? It never failed, every time. Despite the fact that I'm the God of Detectives, that I'm supposed to have enough faces to make Janus cry for Mommy, that I can pull on those faces like Marionettes on a string, everyoneknew this face. This horrible, horrible face. Olympus. I didn't do it, the defense kicked in, a well-oiled machine. I practically didn't need it now. But the chance to go back…

"You think she'd forgive you now? After all these years?"

And years they were. 2,444 to be precise. Over two millennia since I'd last seen Olympus in all her glory. All for a little bit of over-enthusiastic detective work. I know. The irony just cracks me up.

"They always kill the messenger, don't they?" I said, letting the sounds escape as little more than a whisper, like an errant strand of smoke from my lips. To be honest, I didn't want it floating around out there, but…

"Then it's true. You think she's got someone on the inside," another near whisper, incredulous, probably, at just how gullible I was. How many times, even on the way to Camp Half Blood, did we have to run from those hordes of gun-for-hire security harpies sent to pin me down? Gods only knew. Including me, but I'd lost count.

"Doesn't hurt." I grunted.

"Well it won't help you either," he snapped, both out of it and at me,"You know what I am? A Police Chief.I don't have time for backstabbing Gods and fathers who leave their kids out on the street. In fact, I don't want to see you anymore. Ever. I want to do my job."

And with that, he stalked out, ridiculous as always, but somehow more firm. Even the mini-earthquakes kicked up by his heavy-footed tread couldn't help scrape my jaw off the floor. There'd be no help from the mortals. No surprises either.