MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate

WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.

NOTES: Thanks to angel2u, Cynical Gummy Bear, chaSing b0b, EvilFairy12, Guest, Black Roses Wilt, CrazyHalf-Blood31 and Richasa for reviewing this chapter!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does. I pretty much ripped this chapter's title off of chapter 9 of The Sea of Monsters, "I Have the Worst Family Reunion Ever".

Chapter 25: I Have the Worst Birthday Ever

I blink several times and then rub my eyes vigorously, convinced that I'm seeing things. Except that no matter how many times I shut my eyes and open them again, the boy is still standing there, tall as a bean pole. His glasses hanging off the end of his nose; his long, shaggy light brown hair gathered into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck; the tag sticking out from the front of his T-shirt because of course he accidently put it on backwards; his precious Pikachu backpack that I gave him for his fifteenth birthday slung over one shoulder, mostly likely containing a dozen bottles of hand-sanitizer, about twenty emergency first-aid kits, and probably more floss than anyone will ever need in a lifetime.

This has to be Kyle. I glance down at his feet. Two pairs of socks are visible. Okay. That settles it. Kyle never leaves his house unless he's wearing two pairs of socks, even in the middle of summer, so that his raggedy sneakers always look fit to burst.

The first thing I say is, "Oh. My. Gods. What the hell are you doing here?" Because this is the freaking Labyrinth with deadly traps and vicious monsters and not a place for mortals.

"That's a nice thing to say to the best friend you haven't seen in, oh, three years? Four, maybe? Something like that. And geez, you don't even have the courtesy to look like you recently bathed. You look like you haven't seen a shower in weeks," he says, grinning to show that he's joking, though his nose is wrinkled a little and I know that he really is disgusted. Anyone would be, even if they weren't a nut-job hygiene freak like Kyle.

"That's because I haven't," I retort angrily, more out of embarrassment than actual irritation.

"Oh. Eww." He wrinkles his nose even more. "I have shampoo and soap in my bag. You can use that to get clean."

"My hygiene is not the important issue right now!" I say, exasperated. "Do you know where we are?"

"Of course," he says in a superior tone, as though my question was incredibly stupid. "We're, oh, say, three hours away from downtown Toronto."

My mouth falls open in shock. Then I close it before he can tell me that I'll catch flies like that. "You're kidding me." A sudden thought strikes me. "That's not possible. Chiron said the Labyrinth only exists under America…" Except that that's not exactly what he said, is it? He just said that he thought it only exists there. And Toronto is so close to the U.S., it's not such a stretch to believe that the Labyrinth expanded under it, too.

"Well your Chiron isn't very smart, is he? Because I got here through an entrance in the ROM," he says, smiling smugly while pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

Now genuinely annoyed, I snap back, "I'm talking about THE Chiron, the centaur from Greek mythology! The one that's thousands of years old, the one that's taught famous heroes that could snap you like a twig if they wanted to. He's way smarter than you!"

He grins at me. "Ah, how I missed pretending to be pompous just to see you get all riled up. And it works every time. You never learn."

Standing here, seeing that familiar grin, something occurs to me: I missed him. I didn't think about him too much when I was at Camp – maybe because I felt guilty that I let that silly little breakup ruin our friendship – but I still missed him.

A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. "Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"I really missed you."

He makes a face and says, "You're not gonna hug me, are you? Cause you're all muddy and gross. So no hugging until you're squeaky clean." But then he reaches out and gives my hand a light squeeze. "I really missed you too."

Then, of course, he withdraws his hand and makes a show of wiping it on his jeans and pulling out hand sanitizer– I knew he'd have some in his bag.

I roll my eyes, but for some reason I can't stop smiling.

As it turns out, mortals who can see through the mist have no problem navigating the Labyrinth. Currently we're walking in the direction of some place where I can bathe. I told Kyle that we should just head to the nearest exit, but he can be pretty stubborn sometimes. And he assured me that it was on the way to the entrance that will take us to downtown Toronto. I figure that's close enough to New York that I can find a way back to Camp without too much trouble. It's better than Alaska, at least.

While we walk, I ask him a few of the many questions that are floating around in my brain. Why did he come down here in the first place? How did he survive down here for an entire hour, let alone three, all by himself?

"I came because I knew you were in trouble," Kyle tells me, and at my incredulous expression he insists, "No, I really did. This guy appeared in my dreams and told me you were in danger. He said to look for a Greek delta which would take me into the Labyrinth and then I should follow my instincts until I found you."

I stare at him. "A guy appeared in your dream and told you to go into a deadly underground maze, and you listened to him?"

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it? But he was really persuasive. Like, really persuasive." A thoughtful look steals over his face. "He was kinda strange, you know. He was wearing sunglasses even though we were in a movie theatre, and he kept reciting awful haikus. And then when I woke up I was holding this little piece of paper with a picture of a triangle on it, which I figured was the delta thing…" He trails off, glancing at me warily like he's afraid I'm going to declare him insane.

Instead, I groan, "That was Apollo, the idiot god of archery and music and really bad poetry. I can't believe he made you come down here. You could've been killed."

Far from looking upset, he seems incredibly relieved, probably because he's so used to people telling him that the things he's sees aren't real. I mean, he knew they were after I told him about demigods and stuff years ago, but I don't think he really got over thinking he was crazy.

The brown-haired boy shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe," he says, "but I always knew which way was the right way. I knew how to avoid the monsters and the traps. I just followed the brightness on the floor."

"The brightness on the floor," I repeat. Okay, maybe he is crazy.

"Must not be a demigod thing, I guess," he says, looking rather pleased with the idea.

"What about your uncle?" I ask him. "Will he freak out when you get back?" Because that's what he always used to do. If Kyle happened to be home five minutes after his ten o'clock curfew because the subway was delayed, his uncle would flip out and ground him for a week.

Kyle coughs slightly. "Well, uh, the thing is, Uncle Rick doesn't know I'm gone, you see."

"How could he not know you're gone? Doesn't he have Betsy follow you around everywhere? " Betsy is their Australian Shepherd. She's really sweet most of the time, but when Kyle tries to leave the house without permission she turns into a real menace. How she knows whether or not he has permission, I have no idea. I always figured it was better not to ask.

Kyle's face tightens. "Betsy was hit by a car a few months back."

"Oh," is all I can think to say. Gods, I don't know what to do in situations like this one. Damn my father and his socially ineptness that he passes on to most, if not all, of his kids.

Desperate to change the subject, I ask, "So how is your uncle going to react when you come back and he didn't even know you'd left?"

The pain on his face is replaced by a strangely sheepish expression. "Assuming I come back in the next few hours, he won't notice me come in." At my questioning glance, he admits, "I drugged him, okay?"

"You did what?"

"I drugged him." He quickly adds in a defensive tone: "It's not like the stuff I gave him is harmful or anything. It just knocks him out for like twelve hours."

I shake my head at him, but it's not like I have any right to say anything. I did the same thing to Cheryl a few weeks – or maybe months, for all I know – ago. "Then we better hurry, or he'll wake up before you get home."

"What do you mean? It's only been like an hour."

I do my best to explain how time works in the Labyrinth, how a few days can turn into a few weeks, how an hour in the Labyrinth might actually be an entire day on the surface.

"Shit." Kyle starts cursing under his breath.

I ignore this. "What day is it anyway?" After all, it's probably still the same day. If we're lucky.

…Which now that I think about it, I never am.

"November 25th," Kyle says. Then, grinning like he's just beaten 'The Subspace Emissary' in Super Smash Bros Brawl in one night, he adds, "Happy birthday."

It's my birthday. My birthday.

I've aged. I'm not nineteen anymore. I'm not even a teenager anymore.

I'm twenty.

I'm old.

…Okay, so I'm not actually old. It's not like I'm going to be wheeled into a senior home anytime soon. And now that I think about it, reaching twenty is a huge accomplishment for a demigod. It's like one of our major milestones. ("Huzzah! You've survived twenty years as monster bait! Good luck trying to survive twenty more!")

Still, I should be in college or university right now. Or at least in cabin nine, listening to Jake complaining about how unfair it is that I've only got one more year until I can legally consume alcohol (though if I was in Canada, I'd already be legal) while he's still got several years to go.

Basically, I should be anywhere but here, in the freaking Labyrinth, following my best friend that I haven't seen in several years who is following "the brightness on the floor".

Styx, my life is messed up.

It occurs to me suddenly that Kyle is twenty, too. I examine him closely for the first time. His acne is (mostly) gone, his body has kind of filled out, his head is held high and his shoulders are straight, his cheeks aren't chubby anymore and he actually looks like he needs a shave. He looks…well, not hot or gorgeous, but he certainly hits the handsome mark on the scale of attractiveness.

Holy Hephaestus. Whatever happened to that gangly, awkward, self-conscious fifteen year old I used to know?

It's all right, I console myself. He's still got the Pikachu backpack. He still looks like he dressed in the dark. His glasses still hang off the end of his nose. He still lives with his uncle and probably still has a ten o'clock curfew. He's just as nerdy as he ever was.

"What are you staring at?" he asks, his eyebrows raised.

"You," I answer bluntly. "You've changed."

"So have you." Which is true. I have changed. He suddenly grins. "You're twenty now, Dess. You're old."

"I know," I moan pathetically. "Don't remind me."

"I was just kidding," he soothes. "We're the same age, so if you're old, that means I'm old. And I am not old."

At a loss as to how to respond, I just mumble gibberish under my breath.

For the next ten minutes, we catch up, trading stories. He talks about his frosh week, and his classes, and the newest Zelda game, and the few girls he's dated. He rambles on for quite a long time about the drop-dead gorgeous Indian girl who just transferred into his Anthropology program. He confesses that she won't give him the time of day, but insists: "She's just playing hard to get. I totally caught her staring at my ass last week."

Then he tells me about what happened to our old high school classmates, about how the freakishly smart Ukrainian fraternal twins ended up at Dalhousie, and how little Jimmy went to college to become a nurse, and how druggie Dougie and slu– I mean, promiscuous Sarah dropped out of school three weeks before graduation, ran off to Las Vegas and got hitched. (I think he might have made the last one up, but then again, Dougie and Sarah never had much sense.)

For my part, I tell him about a few of the times I've almost died. My first encounter with the climbing wall. (I think I might still have the burns somewhere.) The time Clarisse tried to drown me by sticking my head in the toilet. (She does that to all the new kids, and I was no exception; she thought I was scum on the bottom of her shoe until she saw me protect Isabelle from Sherman.) The incident where I stupidly told Dionysus that he must not be a very good wine god, considering he was always sober. (I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes that time.)

And then I tell him about the more serious things. The war that almost started when Zeus' Master Bolt was stolen. Thalia's tree being poisoned. Kronos' army. The reason I'm in the Labyrinth in the first place. The spy at Camp. But throughout all these stories, the one thing I never mention is my connection to Luke. Kyle doesn't need to know about that. …Probably.

"–and then the boar exploded and caused a cave-in and I got separated from Clarisse and she told me to go straight to Camp and not to try and find her, so I tried to find my way out but I had no idea where I was going and then you showed up and I was really shocked," I finish, gasping for air because I've been talking so fast without ever pausing.

Kyle stares. And stares. And stares some more.

"Dess," he says finally, "your life is really, really messed up."

"Kyle, this is ridiculous."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is to– Oh, forget that. Can I please take off the blindfold now?" I gripe, reaching up a hand to touch the knot at the back of my head.

Kyle smacks my hand away and continues to steer me in the direction of Zeus only knows what.

My definition of 'not fun'? Walking around in the Labyrinth without being able to see anything. I thought this place was terrifying before, but when you can't even see what might be coming for you, it's a million times worse. Every time I hear a noise my hand darts into my pocket to grab my anklet/sword.

Kyle doesn't seem to understand the effect several weeks – months, in real time – in the Labyrinth can have on a person's mental state. He acts like my constant panicking is ridiculous. He's treating this whole thing like some exciting adventure.

"Kyle," I begin, trying to keep my cool, "I don't think you understand how dangerous it is to be walking around the Labyrinth blindfolded. A monster could come out of nowhere and attack us at any moment, and in the time it would take me to get this stupid piece of cloth off my face, I'd be dead, and then you'd be next because you can't fight your way out of a paper bag."

"I can too," Kyle protests, sounding rather offended.

"Cannot."

"Can too."

"Can't."

"Can to– We're here!" Kyle announces suddenly. "You can take off the blindfold now."

"Finally."

As I reach up to undo the knot, I notice that I can feel steam or mist or whatever in the air, and that I can hear the sound of rushing water (which I try to ignore because it reminds me of Poseidon and his terrifying rage), and that everything smells sort of…earthy. And wet, too. Like the morning after a rainstorm, when there's dew on the grass and worms all over the sidewalk. It's been a long, long time since I've smelled anything like this.

When I at last tear the cloth away from my face and look around, my first thought is that this is the one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

My second thought is that it was so not worth the blindfold.

Gritting my teeth, I say, "This was so not worth the blindfold."

"Bull. Shit," he replies, annunciating the words very deliberately.

Knowing better than to argue with Kyle about this, I examine my surroundings very closely. We're standing in the entrance of some sort of huge cavern. There's a massive waterfall flowing gently down into large pool of water, and there's steam all around us. What makes the view so amazing is that the rays of sunlight shining through cracks in the ceiling hit all the water vapour in the air and make rainbows appear everywhere.

If only I had a golden drachma right now. Then I could throw it into one of these rainbows and contact Chiron. But because my life is just doomed to suck, I don't have a golden drachma. However, thanks to Kyle I do have shampoo and soap. I figure the waterfall and the pool are basically just as good as any shower.

"Okay, Kyle, kindly hand me the shampoo and soap and get out."

He obeys, mumbling "So rude…" under his breath. I watch as he disappears through the entrance, his footsteps echoing throughout the cavern. I know him well to know that he won't venture too far away and thereby put himself in danger, but he also won't hover too near and try to catch a glimpse of me naked. Because if Kyle did that– well, let's just say that he wouldn't have to worry about his uncle's reaction to him sneaking out, because he wouldn't be there to see it.

More than an hour later (so I might've taken longer than strictly necessary; after all this time, can you really blame me?), I feel clean for the first time since Aphrodite gave me that makeover. When I'm dressed in fresh clothes (for some reason Kyle had jeans and a T-shirt and a jacket and other stuff my size in his bag; I chalk it up to his obsessive need to always be prepared for everything) and my old ones are stuffed in my bag, I walk toward the entrance to meet up with Kyle, but I'm only halfway there when he comes bursting through the mouth of the cave.

"We've got a problem!" he gasps, looking like he's just run a mile.

"What kind of problem?" I ask, instantly alarmed. I grab my anklet and undo the clasp. Kyle gapes when he sees the piece of jewellery elongate into a bronze sword, but then he recovers and says:

"I saw two people heading this way. I think they were demigods, because they were wearing armour and had swords like yours. Or at least," he adds, suddenly looking thoughtful as opposed to completely panicked, "one of them did. The other had one that looked really weird. Half-bronze, half-steel. Or something."

"Half-steel?" I repeat. Shit. This is not happening. "What did the demigod carrying that sword look like? Was it a guy?"

He nods. "Yeah, they were both guys. The one with the weird sword was blond, and he had a scar on his face. I take it he's not on our side?" Kyle asks upon hearing me release a string of swear words.

"We need to get out of here. Did he see you?" I demand, at the same time glancing around desperately for some sort of hidden passageway that will take us far, far away from here.

"Um," the brunette mortal begins, but before he can say anything else there's a loud, unfamiliar voice declaring, "I think he went this way!" followed by the sound of footsteps hurrying in our direction. Kyle gives me a sheepish look. "That would be a yes."

What the hell do we do? By now they must be close enough that if we leave the way we came in, they'll see us for sure. I could probably outrun them, but Kyle? No way. If we hid behind the waterfall, would they notice us? It's worth a try.

I'm about to grab Kyle's arm and pull him in the direction of the waterfall, when it occurs to me that the footsteps are too close and we'll never make it in time.

And suddenly all I can think is that I don't want him to know it's me, he can't know it's me.

I throw the hood of my jacket over my head a split-second before two figures appear in the entryway.

And then an all too familiar voice drawls, "Well, well. What do we have here?"

Author's Note: Like I said in the first chaper, NO love triangles. Kyle and Dess dated once upon a time, but now they're just friends. Dess' relationship with Luke is messed up enough without adding in another serious (serious as in Kelli doesn't count) love interest.

Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated.