Sorry for the wait.

Chapter Two

Annabeth gawks as the wolf races over the surface of the water. Its elegant white paws strike repeatedly at the waves, leaping over the mounting crests like hurdles on a course. The beast's majestic white fur fans out on either side of its regal head, like a lion's mane. Despite its animalistic appearance, something about the creature bounding over the sea just doesn't seem… threatening.

Percy had led her ashore, keeping his hand firmly clasped around hers to keep Annabeth dry. The beach had been as cool as ever, but the temperature of the icy ocean didn't really effect Annabeth. Which is good. It'd suck to be cold on a day like today.

Percy and Annabeth had kept their eyes peeled for this Cato fellow, with Percy's hand constantly on Riptide. But they'd been met by this creature. It'd rocketed through the high weeds along the dunes and raced right past them, hissing out over the water like a bullet from a gun. But it hadn't proceeded to wander very far, circling back to frisk over the waves like a puppy.

"She's funny, isn't she?" muses a deep voice next to Annabeth. The knife is in her hand and held at the boy's throat before she can even fully process what's going on. Eyes widening with shock, he holds his hands up and yelps, "Whoa! Peace treaty!"

"Who are you?" demands Percy, leveling his sword dangerously. Riptide glints in the light, and Annabeth feels his body brush against hers as he holds the blade up to the other guy's throat.

Analyzing him, Annabeth is puzzled. The boy looks maybe a year or two older than her, nineteen or so, and beefed up with impressive muscles. His black T-shirt hugs his athletic build, and a chain necklace drapes around his neck. The boy's muscular, true, but not ridiculously so; if Annabeth had to guess, she'd say that he can still run swiftly. Towering at nearly seven feet in height, he's almost intimidatingly tall. He can't possibly be human, can he? Curly black locks that belong on a model magazine pile atop his handsome head. At his waist, a scabbard hangs from his jean's belt loops. It's empty, and clearly made to fit the sword. His eyes are bizarrely golden, layered and deep with their differing shades of topaz.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't gut you like a fish," threatens Percy dangerously, each word making his chest vibrate against Annabeth's shoulder.

An animal snarl sounds from behind them, and a sound like a waterski slicing through the waves. The hairs on the back of Annabeth's neck stand on end, alert to the danger approaching from behind, but she knows automatically that she won't be able to turn in time to meet it.

But the boy flicks his hand, and the snarl stops abruptly.

"Oh, that's not nice," he scolds, like the boy's chiding a small child. "And you wonder why your social skills are not the best. Naughty, naughty!"

Annabeth turns, chills running down her spine. She jumps at the fearsome figure looming behind her, and Percy's breath jars.

There, suspended in the air, is the white wolf. Its paws are outstretched and leaping, and the sea spray from where it'd last kicked off the waves still floats aimlessly midair. The wolf's muzzle is twisted into a horrible snarl, its black lips peeled back over its gleaming ivory teeth. Those sea green eyes burn with hate, and the claws on the extended paws gleam like knives.

The scariest part? The beast's bared teeth are not even a foot away from Percy's neck.

"Terribly sorry about that," apologizes the boy in a chatty tone, shifting his weight with his hands still high in the air. "She gets snappy when people threaten to kill me. Loyalty and stuff. It's annoying at times. Sometimes sweet. Usually annoying."

Annabeth takes in his proudly handsome features, and the grandeur he unknowingly carries himself in. "You're this Cato fellow," she guesses. "The son of Kronos."

"Yup," he agrees cheerfully. Using one finger from his uplifted hand, Cato pokes a nail at the weapon strapped to Percy's back. "And you've got my sword. My swordy sword. The sword I use for swording. Thanks."

Percy frowns at the wolf. "You – you said your girlfriend wouldn't get it for you. And now there's a wolf."

Cato cocks a black eyebrow. "Haven't you ever heard of Sea Wolves, Little Olympian? The Vikings are right about something, once in a while."

Annabeth interrupts, furrowing her brow in confusion, and raising her dagger in a threat. "How…," she wonders. Cato prompts her to continue with a half-smile. "How do you exist? A child of Kronos? Isn't that impossible?"

"Annnnd that's why there's a demigod stereotype," concludes Cato with an innocent smile. "So stuck up. My word! Anyhoo, let's say there's a pretty mortal lady." He glances at Percy. "I swear on Styx that I won't do a thing to hurt your girlfriend… for the next three days. Can I have my hands back?"

Percy frowns and nods curtly.

"So," chatters Cato, holding two fingers like legs and making them walk across his palm, "there's this pretty mortal woman. And the idiot this particular woman is, she peers over the edge." The little legs lean over his fingertips, like a person looking down. "Take the wrong step and –" Cato makes a squeaky screaming noise as the legs slowly descend. "Bam! You're in Tartarus! Now, those titans down there don't miss a chance. It's suppertime for papa, and next thing you know, there's a couple little-Kronos running around. I escape, make my way back to reality with the help of Cora, my girlfriend" – he nods to the frozen wolf – "and lead a life of good with the few other demititans that scurry around over here."

Annabeth frowns. Percy's green eyes flick to her, and then back to Cato. The… the son of Kronos smiles easily, like he'd just invited them to go have a pastry or something. His bright gold eyes are flaming with cheer.

"How do I know I can trust you?" questions Annabeth icily.

"Swear it on Styx," he promises with a roll of his eyes, leaning back on his heels. "You really are feisty, aren't you?"

"My feistiness has nothing to do with the current situation," growls Annabeth, narrowing her eyes. "And you gave me brief statements and tricky words, words that can easily be twisted to form half-truths and lies."

It's Cato's turn to narrow his eyes. He crosses his arms and raises his head into a position of dominance. "Maybe," Cato suggests coolly, for the first time looking and sounding hostile, "I don't trust you, either. Sure, you killed my dad, whoop-dee-doo. But welcome back to the real world. I have no reason to trust a demigod with any of our secrets."

"Our?" notices Percy. "There's more of you?"

Cato shrugs, but the playfulness is gone now. "Of course. As long as there are stupid mortals, there will be demititans. And as long as there will be demititans, there will be demigods going out and questing for the skulls of demititans."

Annabeth gasps indignantly. "Nobody does that! You're prejudiced!"

Cato's attention swivels to her, and something inside of Annabeth withers underneath the power of those amber eyes. "That's what I thought about all the others, too," he agrees steadfastly. "But then I saw a little girl, just six years old, torn from the arms of her sister and murdered, simply for casting an awed glance at a god. No, I don't trust demigods. None of us do, really. We stay under the scope."

"So, if us demigods are so horrible, why did you bother contacting us?" challenges Percy. Annabeth feels an alpha male battle coming on. "It wasn't that smart for you to walk up and announce to the counselors of your dreaded enemies that you exist, is it?"

Cato shrugs. "In six and a half days, we'll be the best of friends. I just was curious about who I was befriending."

"You can see the future?" Annabeth butts in, fascinated. "How is that possible?"

Cato's smile turns gentle. His tense shoulders relax, and his golden eyes sparkle once again. "Athenians. Always so curious. I'm the son of time, practically. I can get glimpses of the future, but nothing precise. Nothing substantial. It's all just random flashes. Dates, times, places, people, things, emotions."

Annabeth studies him. "That's… that's pretty cool, I guess."

Cato beams at her. "No, it isn't! It's annoying! But thanks, anyway!"

"What about puppy over here?" wonders Percy, jerking a thumb towards the snarling wolf caught in time behind his shoulder. "You said she was your, uh, girlfriend. I'm all for gays, but, uh, that's a little strange, man."

"Yes." Cato frowns. "Yes, she's going to be ticked at me, isn't she? That's brilliant. I won't be able to get near the coasts for months. Oh, well." He gestures towards the white wolf. "That's Cora, your sister. Daughter of Poseidon. 'xcept, ya know, she got bored at the Camp Half-Blood they had in her time. She went looking for trouble, and found it with some Nordic gods. She became the immortal She Wolf out of her sister and brother, the Sea Wolves. Very dangerous." He gestures towards Percy. "Let's say you're the son of Floridian waters. Calm, peaceful, warm, and cheerful, with only the occasional, ah, riptide. Haha, punny. Then Cora would be Arctic waters: icy, dangerous, and unpredictable. She's got a killer sense of humor though. Uh, not literally."

"I have a sister?" wonders Percy aloud at the same time Annabeth blurts, "She went from Grecian to Nordic? How is that possible? And Sea Wolves?"

Cato holds up his hands in the universal signal for, "Whoa!" His eyes twinkle. "Let me get her away from Percy's neck and get a fire going. Then we can talk. Maybe, just maybe, we can sort out some sort of a treaty, eh?"

The fire makes the Kronos dude look downright creepy. I mean, he'd always looked sort of dramatic with those glowing golden eyes and his athletic figure, but the way the orange light and the prominent shadows cast across his royal features creeps me out. I give Annabeth's hand another squeeze, and refocus my attention on the flame.

The sunset along the beach really is quite wonderful. The clouds had cleared, leaving an open sky vulnerable to the vivid oranges, golds, and reds that'd painted the clouds. The sun dances over the obsidian black water, slowly sinking below the horizon.

Little figures made from smoke dance in and out of the fiery tongues, waltzing and pranking one another joyfully. Cato is at complete ease with the crackling fire and the dancing spirits, reclining on the crude wooden log benches he'd dragged to the fireside to sit on, occasionally striking up lively conversations with the little dudes.

I study him. Cato seems nice. Heck, he's the clumsiest thing I've ever seen in my life, and he uses his sword as a walking stick. His smile is cheerful, and, most of the time, those golden eyes are bright with mirth and playfulness. But then there's that every so often as he gazes over the sea or talks about the bountiful demititans, and a gleam appears. Every so often, he'll twist the sword expertly, or shave off leaf centimeters from a log with one casual sweep. He may appear innocent, but he's far from it.

But do I really believe that he's a bad guy?

Nah, not really.

The way he treated his girlfriend, my sister, had proved that. After she'd been released from her time-lock, she'd transformed back into an elegant white-haired lady, and nearly chewed his head off with her blunt human teeth. Cato had stood there patiently, taking the abuse and countering it with clever jibes of his own. Eventually, Cora had smacked him across the cheek, kissed it better, and raced back into the depths of the ocean.

"So, Cato," starts Annabeth, probably trying to break the awkward silence, "where do you… demititans live? It has to be somewhere discreet, right?"

Cato beams at her. "We live underground! Like gophers! I like gophers. A lot. Anyway, we've carved entire cave systems from the rocks. There's cities beneath America. Before you demigods ever even crawled onto our land, us demititans had completely taken over these lands. Not ruining it and chugging the skies full of pollution, but going all Disney-Pocahontas."

"Why America?" I question, furrowing my brow. "I mean, bald eagles are great and all, but why not Australia?"

Cato's golden eyes meet mine. "Number one: you've got to be crazy to live in Australia. Number two: platypuses don't like demititans. Seriously, they hate us. Number three: there's a huge split in the skin of the world, running right through the Grand Canyon. It's a drop straight down to Tartarus. Nasty fall. So glad you don't have to live through that in this reality. But that crack is the easiest way for demititans to crawl back up. We always have people patrolling the edge to help any strugglers and to kick any monsters back into hell. Boring job. I'd much rather hunt for my father in the Badlands."

Annabeth's intense grey eyes narrow. She studies Cato doubtfully. "Badlands? Killing your father?"

Chaos lifts an eyebrow in the darkness. "Killing my father. Yeah. You demigods are too bound up in your own little world to notice the bigger picture, but half of Canada and all of Alaska is beyond the gods. Literally, mythology has no hold on that land. It's extremely easy for a titan to reform in those areas, even if they can never regain full power, or even cross into godly lands. Ha, that sounds funny. But we put a stop to their ravaging before they can seriously hurt people. Best fun in the world!"

It's as if the demititan had punched me in the chest. I'm too winded to say anything or do anything besides grip Annabeth's hand a bit tighter. She grabs at me a bit more desperately, too.

"Kill titans?" I demand, eyes narrowing, putting on a brave face. Those reflective golden eyes fix on me, and I resist the urge to shiver.

"Yes," he says calmly, lifting his chin. "Kill titans."

"How?" wonders Annabeth in disbelief.

Cato's grin is beatific. "When you live forever, you pick up on a few things." He spins the sword on his fingertip like it's a basketball. "Like how to make avatars. With a lot of focus and hard work, we can literally make ourselves change shape into the Big, Bad Wolves. I have some pretty mean fangs."

"Change shape?" I repeat incredulously. "Like, magic?"

Annabeth turns to me, beating Cato to it. "Titans are older and more powerful than gods, Percy," she explains with that I-know-absolutely-everything tone of voice. "We have no clue what abilities their children may possess, so be nice about it. What I'm really interested is how your siblings managed to do it."

Cato's eyebrows raise. "I don't remember saying anything about 'siblings'."

Annabeth makes a cute gesture with her hands. Here comes know-it-all behavior. "You spoke about a brother earlier. I don't think you even realized it, but you were talking really fast. Another time, you said trio of the sea. I'm assuming you didn't mean Percy, because you were talking about adventuring through England. I don't think I ever let him off his leash for that long. My guess? She's got a brother and a younger sibling. The brother is most likely older than her, but not dominant, judging from her attitude. Her younger sibling is a bit of an annoyance, but she loves him/her all the same."

I stare at her for a solid thirty seconds during the silence following her theories. I rub my thumb over her hand and shake my head. "You're sexy when you're being smart. You know that, Wise Girl?" Her smile makes me practically melt away.

Pain sparks in Cato's eyes. He looks back into the roaring fire to hide his agony. "A brother," he corrects quietly, all pretenses of childish fun devoid in those pained golden eyes. "She… she has a brother. No sibling."

Annabeth frowns, but understanding dawns in those grey eyes. I, however, have moved on to a different subject entirely, bolting to my feet. The sand sifts around my feet, making it impossible to stand. A grin spreads over my features as I recognize a dark figure standing in the shadows.

"Nico!" I shout.

The Ghost King waves a hand half-heartedly at me. His floppy black hair falls into his pale forehead. Slowly, the boy edges closer to the fire, illuminating more of his sharply contoured face. His Stygian Iron sword swings from his belt, catching the firelight. My welcoming grin is not returned.

"Hi," he greets awkwardly. He glares at Cato. "I was told there was going to be one of Brendon's cookouts. Am I wrong?"

The way Nico says that, it sounds like a threat. Like, if there's no barbeque, I will shove this sword down your throat. I frown and turn to Cato but, as always, the dude is beaming. "Don't worry," he assures. "He'll be on it right away."

"Uh…" Annabeth trails off, pointing at something that had apparently just appear next to Nico. There's a shirtless man, maybe twenty-five in age, with sweet muscles and a cartoon dolphin tattooed onto one shoulder. He whistles to himself and flips zucchini like pancakes on top of a shiny red grill. Though the choppy white hair thing is cool, it looks a bit weird with his tan skin. His jeans are coated with water and dusted with sand. Green eyes twinkling, he looks up at me.

"Hello!" The man's voice is just as cheerful as Cato's, though, if anything, more childish. "Sorry, took a wrong turn. Ended up in Olympus. Wonderful job with the kitchen, Annabeth." Besides me, Annabeth's cheeks color with a blush. "Now I'm here! We're making what today, boys?"

"This is Brendon," introduces Nico in his signature monotone. "Brendon, meet Percabeth." The dude with the white hair winks and smiles.

"I'm craving French fries," orders Cato like he's in a restaurant, leaning back on the log. "Maybe with a dash of hot sauce. Oh, and some pickles on the side. Don't skimp on the calamari, either."

I cannot even let such a crime against flavors be committed. Glaring at the son of time, I scold, "Number one: calamari is not cool, bro. Not cool at all. Number two: why would you torture your mouth by mixing seafood with junkfood? That's like baking soda and vinegar. It's not cool, man."

"Agreed whole-heartedly," harrumphs Nico as he collapses on the homemade seat beside Annabeth. "It's going to taste disgusting."

"Percy puts ketchup and mustard on his eggs," points out Annabeth indifferently. "If that's not gross, then I don't know what is."

This is met with wailing and mourning. Cato buries his head in his arms, and doesn't look like he's willing to come out for a long time. Nico takes the effort to scoot a bit further from me, which is pretty extreme for him. The Brendon dude claws his hands down his face and moans.

"Why?" he demands. "Why would you do a thing like that? It goes against nature!"

In my opinion, a man needs to defend his tastes. "Don't judge a book by its cover," I protest. "It's good. By itself, an egg is too plain. By themselves, common condiments have too much kick. But when put together, well, that's heaven."

"You and I see heaven very differently," groans Cato from inside his hand fortress.

I grin wickedly. "If you're not willing to get this thing done, Clocks, then you might as well jump off the crazy train now."

Cato emerges from his hands. That face is twisted into a challenging smile, and playfulness dances in his golden eyes. He slaps his knee. "Was that a threat, Jackson?"

I grin at him. "You know it was. Let's get this over with."

Annabeth sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Couldn't agree more," growls Nico.

I really have nothing to say here.

POLL: so, obviously, there was a sibling for Cora and, if you haven't figured it out yet, Brendon. What do you think happened to her?

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh