MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate

WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.

NOTES: Thanks to Richasa, CrazyHalf-Blood31, angel2u, chaSing b0b, Guest, Tired And Insprired, FadedSunset, TheMeg-hanSolo and XxVivIeNnexX for reviewing this chapter!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.

Chapter 26: We Meet the Embodiment of Pure Evil

I tighten my grip on the handle of sword, hand my bag to Kyle, and position myself directly between him and the two advancing half-bloods, making sure to hide my face as much as possible. I didn't have time to tuck my hair into my jacket, but I doubt the wet, slightly curled, nearly black locks that tumble down my shoulders will give me away. My voice might, though, so I keep silent.

Damn Kyle and his 'Girl, you stink! Let's get you to the nearest bathing area ASAP!' If he'd just listened to me instead of being his usual stubborn, OCD-about-hygiene self, we probably would've been out of the Labyrinth by now. I'd love to just stand here and mentally curse Kyle out with every swear word I know, but unfortunately that won't get us out of this mess.

Somehow, I have to do the impossible and fight off two armed members of Kronos' army, all the while protecting my utterly-useless-in-a-fight best friend and preventing Luke from finding out who I am.

Keeping my head down, I examine the unknown figure through my lashes. He's a couple inches shorter than Luke, pale to the point that he would make my brother Zeth, who avoids sunlight like his life depends on it, look tan in comparison, and so thin that he could probably be classified as skeletal. When he comes closer, I notice the haggard look on his face, the frightened gleam in his eyes. Everything about this boy screams 'FRAGILE'. Even the wicked bronze sword doesn't appear that threatening in his trembling hands.

Okay. Him I can probably handle. But Luke, who was known at Camp as the best swordsman in three hundred years, who once singlehandedly took down half the Ares cabin in a game of Capture the Flag and barely broke a sweat? I don't stand a chance against him. But maybe, if I'm really, really lucky, I can hold him off long enough for Kyle to escape.

They stop a few metres away from us and the fragile boy loudly demands, as if he believes that increasing the volume of his words will make him sound intimidating, "Who are you two?"

I pray to the gods that Kyle will keep mouth shut. Wait– the gods! I completely forgot about them! Maybe we're not doomed after all.

All right, Pops, I know I've been an ungrateful shrew to you for the last few years, but if there was ever a time to sic a couple of man-eating automatons on my enemies and save my ass, it would be now.

Predictably, nothing happens. The only other god I can think of that might even pay attention to my plight is Apollo, but he seems to be under the delusion that the best way to deal with a murderous psycho is to try to talk things out, so I don't think he'll be much help.

Luke smiles at me coldly. "I think you'll find it in your best interest to answer the question."

Like hell I will. I lunge at them, and the sheer stupidity of the action stuns both of them enough that they don't react in time to stop me from colliding with the shorter boy and sending him sprawling. I glance at Kyle over my shoulder and see his eyes light up in understanding. Then I turn my head back to Luke, my hair falling in my face and partially obscuring my vision, but not to the point where I'm unable to see his sword swinging right at me and block it with my own. Kyle darts around us and is almost at the entrance to the cave when Luke easily disarms me, sending my only weapon skittering to the edge of the pool, way out of my reach.

Luke holds his blade to my throat and addresses Kyle in a pleasant voice: "If you value this girl's life, you'll go stand over there with Peter–" He jerks his head in the direction of the other demigod, who has by now gotten back to his feet. "–where I can see you."

Luke's bluffing. He won't kill me until he's figured out who I am, how and why I'm in the Labyrinth, and if I have any useful information. But Kyle doesn't know that, and so his shoulders slump in defeat and he willingly walks to Peter's side and does not protest as the sickly-looking boy grabs his arms and holds them behind his back.

You idiot! I want to scream at him. You were almost home free! Peter might have gone after him, but he doesn't look particularly strong and his weapon would just pass right through Kyle. But maybe Kyle wouldn't have been able to survive on his own in the Labyrinth, even with his extraordinary ability to find his way around. Shit. We'll be screwed if Luke finds out about that. He'll use Kyle to guide Kronos' army through the maze and straight to whatever entrance he's found within the Camp's borders – assuming there is one. And, since the Fates apparently hate me, there probably is.

Luke gives Kyle the once-over. "Mortal, from the looks of it. No idea who he is. You recognize him?" he asks Peter, who presumably shakes his head, because Luke then says, "Well, we'll figure that out later. I'm more interested in her."

He pushes back my hood, but my head is bent and my hair surrounds my face like a curtain. I can feel his breath on my ear as he whispers, "I'll ask you one more time, sweetheart. Who are you?"

Fed up and knowing that he'll just force me to look at him anyway, I brush the wet strands of hair out of my face and raise my head. I meet his gaze boldly and feel a sort of grim satisfaction at his expression of complete and utter shock.

"Dess?" he gasps.

In his stunned disbelief, he withdraws his sword a few centimetres. This is the time for me to strike, while he's still trying to process this startling turn of events. I knock the weapon out of his hand and it clatters noisily as it hits the ground.

He reacts instinctively, locking his hands around my wrists, gripping them so tightly that it hurts, so tightly that I know I won't be able to break free.

And my stupid, stupid, stupid brain sees only one away out of this. My head is tilting upward and some small part of me is screaming, Don't do it, don't do it! Just because it worked for Elizabeth Swann doesn't mean it'll work for you–

But it's too late. I'm already kissing him.

For one heart-stopping moment he is completely motionless, his lips frozen against my own.

And then he releases his hold on my wrists and he is kissing me back with such wild, total abandon that I almost forget my plan, the reason I'm kissing him in the first place. For a second there is nothing but the familiar heat of his mouth on mine, and the palm of my hand pressed against his chest right above his rapidly beating heart, and his own hands slipping under my shirt and caressing the small of my back and pushing my body against his because close just isn't close enough–

"What the hell?" I hear the voice as though from very far away, but it's enough to bring me back to my senses. Luke, however, doesn't seem to even register the sound and simply continues to kiss me fiercely, one of his hands reaching for the clasp of my bra. Okay, I think it's time I put an end to this spontaneous make-out session.

I draw back my leg and then knee Luke in the balls so hard that he literally howls. I fling myself over to the pool and reach down to grab my sword off the ground. I straighten up just in time to see Kyle twist away from Peter, who is gaping at the doubled-over-in-pain Luke, and then elbow him in the face.

Now free, Kyle instantly runs to my side. He seizes my arm and hauls me toward the waterfall.

"Are you insane?" I shriek, digging my heels into the ground and trying to pull him in the direction of the cavern's entrance. "We have to get out of here!" Already Luke is struggling to get to his feet. Peter sprints over to help him up.

Kyle tugs on my arm. "Trust me!"

I hesitate for a split-second, and then follow him. When we reach the waterfall he pulls me behind it and starts examining the cave wall.

"Where is it, where is it…" he mutters.

"I don't know what the hell you're looking for, but hurry!" I shout at him.

Finally, when Luke and Peter are almost upon us, Kyle crows, "I found it!" and stabs the wall with his finger. Immediately, a doorway appears and Kyle yanks me through it.

We burst out into the cold, open air, and the sun is shining overhead and all I can think is, Gods, I missed this. Then I remember that we're being chased by Kronos' minions. I glance behind me and get one last glimpse of Luke's shocked and enraged face before the door seals shut. Daedalus' mark is nowhere to be found on this end, and hopefully it has vanished on Luke's side, too.

The full magnitude of what's just happened hits me. Not only have we escaped from Luke without revealing any vital information, we've also escaped the Labyrinth. We're free. I'm free. I never have to go back in there again. No more walking endlessly without a clue as to where I'm going. No more living in constant danger, terrified of my own shadow. I'm free.

"Kyle, we're free! We're out! We never have to go back in there ever again!" I throw myself into his arms and hug him tightly.

He hugs me back, but after a couple of seconds he gently pushes me away and says, "Yeah, we got out of there, but where did we end up?"

I stiffen. Crap. "I don't know," I say nervously. "Where do you think we are? Kyle, what if we're on the other side of America? How are we going to get back?"

"Okay, just calm down," he soothes. "Panicking will not help us. Look around. What do you see? What do you hear?"

I scan my surroundings. We're standing in the shade of a building made of gray bricks. There are trees to the right of us, most of them barren. Not surprising, since it's November. At first the cold wind felt good after the stale, perpetually warm underground air, but the longer I stand here the more I realize I'm freezing my butt off in this thin jacket. Judging by the position of the sun, I'd say it's almost noon.

I can hear a gaggle of voices from somewhere close by, and underneath that the roar of a waterfall. Kyle and I look at each other and silently agree on our next course of action. Reluctantly, I return my sword to anklet form and put it in the pocket of my jeans. We slip around to the front of the building to find just what we expected: a lot of people. A young woman pushing a stroller. An old married couple sitting on a bench. A middle-aged man with two identical little girls in pink coats babbling at him excitedly. A group of teenagers, some laughing uproariously, others glued to their phones or iPods or whatever.

Just innocent, harmless mortals enjoying their daily lives, but to me they all look vaguely menacing. Okay, so maybe I'm still afraid of my own shadow after all. I'm probably going to need a lot of therapy when I get back to Camp. And I will get back. Somehow.

Kyle nudges my side and murmurs, "I'm going to go poke around that building, talk to some people, see if I can find out where we are. You stay here, okay?"

"No, I'll go with you."

He grimaces. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Offended, I ask, "Why not?"

"Dess, when was the last time you looked in a mirror?" I open my mouth to retort but Kyle just plows on. "Look, if I didn't know you and you approached me looking like that, I'd run away screaming."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I practically snarl. "I just took a bath, I'm perfectly clean–"

He sighs. "That's not what I meant." If he notices the confusion on my face, he ignores it. "Look, it doesn't matter. Just stay here and I'll figure out where we are."

He hands me our packs and walks into the building without another word. I plop down on the ground, setting the bags beside me, and cross my arms, stewing in silent rage. Why would people run away screaming at the sight of me? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. For someone who always used to tell me that I needed to be more comfortable with who I am and how I look, he's not exactly doing wonders for my self-esteem. Which I happen to have quite a bit of now, but still.

For the next ten minutes I fantasize about beating Kyle to a pulp, and then a snort of derisive laughter breaks me out of my daydreams. I've been staring fixedly at a potted plant, but now I turn my head in the direction of the noise. Just as I expected, it came from a teenage girl. To my surprise, however, the girl is sneering at me. Really? Doesn't she have anything better to do? And she's not even trying to be subtle about it.

I lock eyes with her and stare her down. Probably she's at least sixteen, but for some reason she looks like a child to me, with wide eyes and a small face caked in makeup that screams 'I'm trying too hard to look grown-up!'. Get over yourself, Princess, I say to her silently. You think you're tougher than me? I've seen things you couldn't imagine in your wildest nightmares.

Now, here's the thing. My glares have never been very effective, even when I was dealing with the Aphrodite kids who spend most of their time worrying about trivial things like how their hair looks and what they'll do when their nail polish runs out. So when the girl pales, visibly shudders, and backs up so quickly she nearly trips, I'm beyond shocked. The girl, who is now very pointedly not looking at me, says something about a Nikola Tesla memorial to her friends and the majority of the teenagers walk away.

I frown to myself, trying to figure how I could have possibly scared her that much. Suddenly Kyle's words from earlier seem less like an insult and more like a matter of fact statement. I heave Kyle's bag into my lap and, completely disregarding his right to privacy, paw through it until I find what I'm looking for amidst all the junk. A plain, handheld mirror.

I hold it up in front of me and see myself for the first time in a long time. For a second all I can feel is indignation at Kyle, because I look fine, really. I should probably pluck my eyebrows and comb through my hair with something other than my fingers when I get the chance, but otherwise there doesn't seem to be anything about me that would send a stranger running in the opposite direction screaming their head off.

But as I continue to examine my face intently in the mirror, I start to see what Kyle meant. Yes, I'm mostly clean, but my hygiene isn't the problem. The problem is my eyes. The ferocity, the desperation, the wild gleam in them. I look like a wounded animal that is being hunted by predators and will snap at the slightest provocation.

I draw in a shaky breath and shove the mirror back into the bag. It's disturbing, to see myself looking like that. No wonder the girl was so frightened. Any civilized human being would be.

I go back to staring at the potted plant. I don't want to scare anyone else. Sooner than I expected, Kyle comes back. I scramble to my feet and open my mouth, but he answers my question before I can even voice it.

"New York," he says. "We're on Goat Island, in the Niagara River, right between the American side and the Canadian side of Falls. That building–" He jerks his thumb toward it. "–is the entrance to the Cave of the Winds, where you can take an elevator down to the base of the Bridal Veil Falls. Well, most of the time. It's not open now since it's winter."

I let out a sigh of relief. This is good. Very good. This is actually better than if we'd just gone straight to the downtown Toronto entrance. After all, there's no guarantee that it would still be there, and this way I don't have to cross the Canadian-United States border.

"And the date?" I ask.

"November 26th," he says mournfully. "I am so screwed. Uncle Rick is going to put bars on the basement window, chain me to them, and then lock me down there for the rest of my life."

I laugh. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" Then I turn serious. "What do we do now? I don't know about you, but I don't have any money."

"You know my cousin Violet? The one that ended up in rehab?" I nod. I remember Violet. She's the reason Kyle's uncle is so over protective. He doesn't want what happened to his daughter to happen to his nephew. "Well, she's out now and she lives in New York– Brooklyn, to be specific. Works as a receptionist for some shady company, which is great for her because she spends all her time glued to her phone anyways."

"And I care because…?"

He looks at me like I'm remarkably stupid. "Well, since she lives in Brooklyn, she's close enough to come pick us up–"

"You're kidding, right? It'll take her like twelve hours to get here!"

"You're exaggerating," he sniffs. "It'll only take her about six."

I stare at him in disbelief. "You really think she'll be willing to drive for six hours just to pick up her bratty cousin and his friend?"

"Okay, first of all, if anyone's bratty, it's you. Secondly," he says loudly, drowning out my protests, "I already called her on a payphone. She's on her way right now."

To my shock, he actually seems to be telling the truth. "How on earth did you get her to agree?"

"Well you see, Dess," Kyle begins, grinning. "When you've lived with someone for more than ten years, you find you have an awful lotof blackmail material on your hands…"

For the next six hours, we wander around Goat Island and see pretty much every free attraction it has to offer, all the while freezing our butts off. We visit the memorial the makeup-happy girl mentioned to her friends. We check out the two American waterfalls and then head over to Terrapin Point to see the Horseshoe Falls, which I've seen several times before, but always from the Canadian side. Kyle has sandwiches and apples and water bottles in his bag, so we have that for lunch and dinner because 'Top of the Falls' sounds expensive and Kyle only has Canadian money, and not a lot of it either– just a twenty and some change.

We talk on-and-off throughout the day, but it isn't until after we eat dinner that Kyle brings up the incident with Luke.

"So," Kyle says, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the bench we're sitting on. "That whole 'kiss-the-enemy-to-distract-them' move that you totally stole from Pirates of the Caribbean– How did you know it would work?"

I freeze up, but then force myself to relax and reply, "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Dess, I'm not stupid." He smirks. "That guy obviously recognized you, and you must have some sort of history with him, because the second you kissed him he was all over you."

"Oh, shut up," I retort, the teasing grin on his face annoying me more than his words.

"No, seriously, I thought he was going to rip off all your clothes right then and there." He dodges my poor attempt to stomp on his foot, but doesn't react in time to stop me from punching him in the gut. Hard. "Ouch," he complains, rubbing the spot where I hit him. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." I glower at him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm just telling it like it is." And then he darts off the bench and out of my reach before I can strangle him.

The sky is dark by the time Kyle's cousin shows up. Six-hour drive my foot. It's been at least eight hours. I bet she stopped to flirt with every cute guy she saw. When I met her years ago she seemed like the type of girl who would do that. Normally I would whine about the extra two hour wait, but Violet already looks crazy angry when we climb into the back of the car, so I keep my mouth shut. Her multiple piercings (tongue, eyebrow, nose, etc.), the vicious way she chews her bubble-gum (like she's trying to tear through human flesh), and the crossbones tattoo on her shoulder blade (why is she only wearing a tank top in the middle of winter? Is she insane?) do nothing to dispel her 'mad-enough-to-spit-fire' look.

"So." She sneers at Kyle in the rear-view mirror as she pulls out of the parking lot and turns onto the road that will take us off this island. "Mr. Goody Two-Shoes snuck out of the house to go to Niagara Falls with his girlfriend. How did you even get across the border?" When Kyle opens his mouth to respond, she snaps, "Don't answer that, I don't really care."

"I was only going to point out that Dess isn't my girlfriend," he says mildly.

"Well, good, because she looks absolutely rabid," Violet says disdainfully, as though I'm not sitting right there.

"I'm sitting right here, you know," I snarl at her.

"Whatever. Look, I may have agreed to drive you two losers around, but this is still my car and you will obey my rules."

She rattles off a list of rules, blatantly ignoring us whenever we interrupt to ask for clarification or protest the utter unfairness/ridiculousness of one of her rules. Rule one: she can say whatever crap she wants about us and we're not allowed to complain. Rule two: in her car, there will be no eating, drinking ("What about water?"), urinating ("Why the hell would we piss in your car?"), vomiting, or otherwise doing anything to sully the interior of her precious Ford Mustang. Rule three: we stop when she decides to stop, and we're not even allowed to ask her to stop. ("But what if one of us needs to use the bathroom? You just said you don't want us to pee in here.") Rule four: when she blows a bubble, there is to be total silence in the car lest we pop the bubble-gum bubble with our obnoxious voices. ("Okay, now you're just making stuff up.") Rule five: she controls the radio, end of story, and if the volume of the music happens to shatter our eardrums, well, that's not her problem. And on and on and on.

I stop paying attention somewhere around rule seventeen. I crash back against the seat and resist the urge to scream, which would be a violation of rule nine, and beside me Kyle mutters, "This is going to be a long ride."

Author's Note: I've never been to Goat Island, and I got all the info off the internet, so some of it might be wrong.

Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, the title of this chapter refers to Violet, not Luke or Peter.

Reviews are appreciated.