Sorry for not updating, I'm rushing. I'm trying to write this and my new story Hunters at the same time. That's pretty difficult if you've never tried to do that, you know. So, sorry again, and since I was in a hurry, this chapters about three pages shorter than what I usually type. (My normal is regularly 6-8 pages on Word.)
So anyway, normally I would just say "Here's your chapter; have fun!" but one of you (chronus the cookie thief) brought up some good points that I feel shouldn't be ignored.
1) Why not Hecate? Does a villain really have to be all big and bad like Kronos? Hecate gets pretty disgraced when you think about it. She's supposed to be a big powerful Titan, right? The gods in the PJO word see her as a puny minor god without any purpose. Why shouldn't she get pissed off and try to take over in her own ruling? And plus, what was I supposed to do? Bring Kronos back? That would be jacked up, mostly because it's already been done.
2) I don't know if you've read my past story, before this one, but Cadmus's parents are not Penelope Miller and Tony Staphili. They're Tess Arren and Leo St. Cloud (I used the name Leo before Rick's The Lost Hero came out, btw), who were killed by the Minotaur. Tony literally caught Cadmus and it's his responsibility to take care of him. Penelope volunteered to help.
3) Good question. It'll be answered in good time. Just be patient. Wink wink.
Disclaimer (why do I always forget about this?): I do not own PJO. Only my OC's, events, and places. The rest of it goes to Rick Riordan, who seriously should talk to Chris Columbus about jacking up his books when in movie form. I don't even want to imagine how wrong the second PJO movie's going to be. But I still want to see it :)
21/
PERCY
Watching Annabeth go down was like getting my heart shoved into my throat, if that makes any sense. She'd literally flown ten feet in the air from impact, going out of sight. I stood frozen for about two seconds, then I started running.
Someone was yelling her name as I practically threw people out of my way to find her—maybe it was me. I don't remember much else but the need to save her.
I was three feet away from her limp body when a sword clanged on my foot, like it was trying to sever it. The sneering face I looked up into was so familiar, a bad feeling started up in the pit of my stomach—that feeling always meant bad news.
The woman was clearly a goddess. She wore blood-red, with fresh stains all over it, probably from fighting. Her features reminded me of Ares, god of war; good-looking, but harsh and cruel, definitely someone you'd pee yourself over in a dark alley. I recognized the cold look in her sharp eyes instantly, a look I'd seen so many times on this goddess's son...
Ethan Nakamura.
"Nemesis," I hissed. "I thought you changed sides after Ethan?"
The goddess snarled at his name. "You are not worthy to speak my son's name, Jackson. It is but your fault he is dead."
"Ethan chose his own path," I told her. "You were the one who promised him he would tip the balance. You took his eye."
"A fair payment," she growled. "Ethan was the one to right the wrong. You, Jackson, earned the minor gods far more respect than we'd received in millennia, but we are still minor. The Olympians still consider themselves superior."
"That's true," I agreed, "but I got you what you needed in the last war. Why do you want more?"
Nemesis seemed to regard the question thoughtfully, her sword relaxing from mine just a tiny bit. She told me, "For the balance to be truly right, we must all be equal. Such as your own puny government. 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,' is it not?"
I recalled that line from the Declaration of Independence (written by none other than Thomas Jefferson, son of Athena). "Yeah. But you don't need to crush us like Hecate wants."
Nemesis smiled wryly, an action that scared me. "But I do. For the 'minor' gods to receive the worship we deserve, Hecate must defeat the Olympians and their children. She will force them into an balanced government, and soon there will be no such thing as the Olympian Council, no more unjust ruling. We will be all equal. That is the key, Jackson. Equal."
So you're just going to kill me to get what you want, I sighed internally.
"Yes," she said out loud, reading my thoughts.
And the fight began.
I had to admit, Nemesis was a better fighter than I'd thought. She had nothing on Ares or Kronos, of course, but she was skilled enough to kill me, and that was good enough for her.
I couldn't really focus on anything else but the cat-and-mouse movement of the battle, but I was pretty sure the fighters around us—demigods, monsters, gods—parted to let us have our attack. Not good. It meant they wanted to watch. Which meant this was something worth being interested in. Which meant it was life-or-death. Which meant I would have to temporarily kill Nemesis, or she would kill me.
Nemesis' sword couldn't find any place on me to cut. Her blade simply sparked off my face, my shoulder, my knee. Thanks to my being invincible, I didn't really need to put up a defense; just watch my back (literally), so I went on offense, trying to get a lick or two in at her.
A strange feeling came over me. The moves I was making were too automatic. Weirdly, they were veering out of my usual fighting style. I frowned at myself, but got distracted again.
Nemesis' eyes were blazing with rage—another Ares trait. Then she bore down so fast I barely had time to duck past her fiery blow. Her roar of anger blew my hair back in a godly sort of fury, then I found our blades locked, the pressure on mine increasing every second.
I grimaced. My arms were starting to get tired. A weird thing, since the Curse of Achilles usually kept me up and going. A shock of fear went through my chest; if I let down my guard even just a little, Nemesis would throw me down and hack at me over and over until she found my Achilles spot. I gulped. Bottom line: not good.
I felt like I was watching myself put a kick to the back of the goddess's leg, a knee to her shoulder, my sword going towards her throat, being blocked by her own sword. I felt like I was a million miles away from my body, and it was fighting with a mind of its own. I tried to stop. I couldn't. Oh, gods…
Might as well thank me, punk, a cruel voice sneered in the back of my mind. The only reason I'm doing this is because Lightning Lord wants you alive.
Ares? I asked.
Duh, puny, he scoffed. Don't say I never did anything for you.
MARIA
(A/N: I'm always going to use third person for Maria Gallegos, just saying. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. It just seems better that way.)
She knew this place.
The white dress she wore, the tightness of her elaborate up-do, the glass of champagne in her hand, it all told her instantly where she was.
She stood on a balcony all too familiar, staring out at a beautiful garden that was as cold and unfeeling as the nobles who owned it. The wind rose at that thought, fluttering her dress and raising goose bumps on her skin. She shivered. She raised the glass to her lips, simply to have something to do.
The bitter taste made her pause before she swallowed, evaluating the sense. It burned in her mouth. Nothing like the bubbly sweetness she remembered. She quickly spat the golden liquid into the dark. With a disgusted look on her face, she threw the glass into the dark, ignoring the shatter it made.
She breathed the sharp air into her lungs, wishing the stars would shine just a bit brighter. Just to give her some hope.
"Maria."
The deep word sent instant shocks of pain through her heart. Her eyes closed against tears, and she turned to face the young, handsome boy behind her, dressed in an elegant black tuxedo.
They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Then they rushed into each other's arms at the same moment.
"Why have you come, my love?" His beautiful Italian words were like music to her ears.
"To find you," she answered into his chest. "Why else would I stoop so low?"
His rumbling laugh made her smile, yet she could feel him frowning. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why?" she whispered. "You know I can handle them."
"You think you can handle them, love."
She closed her eyes, wishing the light pressure on her head was his lips. "I hate them," she said.
His arms tightened around her. "I know, darling. I know."
She looked up at him suddenly, with the eyes she knew he couldn't resist. "Come with me. I know a place we could live in peace."
"What about our families?"
She wanted to scoff, but she held it back. "Family? Both of us have none worth loving."
"The old man, then? What will he do?"
Now she snorted. "The old man can't take care of himself, let alone hunt us down. He'll grumble at most." She paused before saying, "And yours?"
"You know what they're capable of," he said simply. "I won't let you put yourself in their way."
"You're stalling," she scowled. "Please. We could be happy."
"We're young, love," he said. "We can wait until the di Angelo's eye is drawn. A few years at the most."
She sensed the lie instantly. "You're not telling me something."
"You jump at shadows, Maria." He dismissed her accusation with a simple change of subject.
She frowned. "What's going on?"
"My lord," the black-clothed man drew their attention urgently.
He pressed his lips to hers gently. "Run, Maria." He pulled away from her quickly with a pained, wistful expression. Her hand grabbed for his elbow longingly, but her fingers slipped through air. Then he was running off into the dark among the white pillars, leaving her alone, the ghost of his kiss still on her lips.
She flinched sharply as she heard the silenced shot, the swift sound of cloth dragging over marble. The hushed whispers in Italian.
She knew she had to flee. She slipped off her gold heels and dropped off the balcony just as the assassin came into view. She landed in the underbrush, cutting into her feet, but she couldn't care about that. Gathering her skirts, she began to run. Sharp Italian shouts pursued her as she flashed through the trees. Twigs caught in her hair. Mud dirtied her feet.
She ducked under another balcony as she caught sight of the tall men in black. She pushed her back to the wall, daring to stop. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with the loss of breath.
She pressed her trembling hand to her lips, closing her eyes as she allowed one tear to fall.
"Goodbye, Giovanni."
Maria woke shivering to another cold night. Her hand crept to the gold pendant at her throat, just to prove she wasn't still dreaming. A dream within a dream, if you will. She knew that wasn't impossible. Gods liked to play tricks.
Speaking of gods… She didn't know which one would send her another dream designed to twist her arm even further. Aphrodite, maybe. She did like to poke and prod with broken hearts. Especially Maria's. It was hard to guess. Too many gods disliked her.
A snore behind her made her realize Nico di Angelo's arm was draped around her. His breathing washed over her shoulder every few seconds. She felt like squirming, but she knew that would only wake him.
She knew she'd made a mistake by entrapping him. She'd only made another potential enemy. He was becoming too attached to her, but if she cut the strings, things would go very, very bad.
It was easy for her to slip out from his hold without jostling him. He'd fallen asleep next to her too many times for her liking. The practice was getting dangerous.
Looking up, she noted that Eos, the goddess of the dawn, was sluggish that morning. The stars didn't seem to want to leave, and she didn't want them to either. They provided a placebo effect of warmth and hope, though she knew too well it was false.
She picked up Sangre quietly, daring to check the pump action. The sharp clicking didn't wake him. It only drew a snort out of her.
Thalia Grace had fallen to Morpheus's clutches on the slide, muttering names in her sleep and tugging feverishly at her silver bracelet. Maria took that as a sign of nightmares. Unsurprising; demigods always had them.
Maria glanced at the sky, which was suddenly turning pink. She straightened. It was time to move.
THALIA
"Thalia."
I cracked one eye open to see Maria standing over me.
"What?"
"Come."
I groaned and rolled my eyes, but I heaved myself up and sat by sourly while she woke up Nico. "Huh?" he snorted.
"Wake up," she said. "Apollo is approaching."
"You talk like you're a hundred, Gallegos," I said. "Get with the times."
"English changes so quickly I don't bother to learn it," Maria responded calmly. "Come."
"How are we moving this fast?" I asked.
Maria glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "The car was a gift," she said. "It moves at inhuman speeds. It should get us to L.A. faster." Her gaze shifted to Nico. "You remember where it is?"
"Yeah," he said, though I had no idea what he was talking about. "DOA Recording Studios. Where are we now?"
She frowned. The car shifted suddenly, changing from a beat-up Chevy to a sleek Lamborghini. "Ohio," she said finally.
That was doubtful. "You're kidding, right?"
"No." Maria frowned again. Then her eyes widened. The next thing I knew, my forehead was planted on the back of her seat. I sat up, blinking the blurriness from my eyes, rubbing a sore spot on my forehead.
"Holy fu….tap-dancing Zeus," I complained. Thunder rumbled. "Oh, shut up, Dad," I grumbled. Looking up, I saw Maria was putting the gearshift into reverse and backing away from the car she'd rammed from behind. The broken metal crunched as the tires moved over shattered glass.
"What the hell was that?" I demanded.
She didn't look at me. "Empousai," she said, like I was stupid. "A car-full. They would've ripped you apart." She emphasized you; she wouldn't be saving me. Well, at least I knew then whose side she was on. The opposite one.
Only when the passenger door opened did I notice Nico wasn't sitting in the front seat. Brushing glass off his black shirt, he slid in, looking disgruntled. Judging from the hole in the windshield, he must've flown through it. He didn't have a scratch on him.
Maria had already changed the car from a Lamborghini to canary yellow Porsche, no dents, no scratches, the windshield already mending itself. Nico was glaring at her.
I leaned in close and practically put my lips to his ear, "Wow, Nico. You make a really good crash-test dummy."
"Comes with the territory," he grumbled, sending another glance at Maria.
She suppressed a smile. "And practice, amor. Remember Florence?"
I frowned. "What happened in Florence?"
The air tensed suddenly. I could tell they were both trying to figure out what to say without telling me too much. My frown deepened. Finally Nico settled for, "She had me thrown out of a moving van."
She laughed. "The Parichi's threw you out of a moving van, Nico."
"You helped."
"I made sure they didn't lose you in Italian traffic."
"By tying me to the bumper."
"Did you die?" she questioned. "No. Was I convicted? No. Were you hurt?"
"Yes," he interrupted. "That's where I got this, remember?" He yanked up his shirt to show her the white scar on his stomach. I'm not usually the mushy type, the girl to go all googly-eyed over hot guys, but I couldn't help but notice Nico's stomach was a total, perfect, six-pack. I'm not kidding, normally you wouldn't think Nico would be so…hot. But he was.
I'm sure Maria noticed too. She turned her eyes back to the road, but the way she licked her lips made her look like a porn star. Looking back at Nico, I was sure he saw it too.
I didn't realize I was scowling until Nico asked, "Thalia, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said darkly.
Clueless.