A/N I'm happy with the response that this story received, even though it wasn't as many reviews I was hoping for. I'm going to so some thing rather special for this story, each chapter, I'm going to dedicate to a person who has helped me develop my writing skills.

This chapter is going to be dedicated to Athena0228. I've had the honor of knowing her personally, and I have read and beta read her stories. The reason I'm dedicating this chapter to her is because she did let me be her beta reader, it was a great honor, and it helped me to learn through her mistakes... you know, looking at her work and noticing that I do the same thing.

So, Athena, this one's for you.

The hot, spring sun warmed my face, sending the first warm wave through my body. For most of the night, I had been shivering, because I was wet during the night. I was surprised I wasn't coughing or sneezing, or that I didn't have a fever of 101 degrees.

My eyes opened reluctantly, they were almost pasted shut by rainwater and eye gunk. My shirt was still damp and clung to my ribcage. I could still hear the wind patting against the small storage shed I had been sleeping in for months. As I sat up, the floor creaked, awaking Cynthia, who was lying next me. She sat up, leaned against the wall, and stretched her arms.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Who cares?" I asked, knowing how irritable I was being. She shoved her red hair behind her ears. She watched attentively as I made my way into the corner of the room. The storage closet we were in was never made for sleeping, it was no bigger than a walk-in closet, and some spots of the floor was covered in black, and fuzzy-like mold. The only window that was available to look out, had a large, baseball sized hole in it, allowing the cool night air to creep in while I slept. I couldn't count how many times I had woke up in the morning with the sniffles or a cough.

I yanked up my pack from the floor and looked her square in the eyes. She stared back.

"When did the furies say they were gathering you guys up?" she asked softly, watching me as I sat against the windowsill.

"They didn't," I explained. "But it doesn't matter." She stood up, her face suddenly darkening.

"Why?" There was a hint of mild concern in her voice. I didn't answer. "Greg? Why wouldn't it matter?" she repeated.

"I'm not going," I said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"What?" She asked, in a nervous frustration. "You can't do that."

"The hell I can't!" I snapped. "I'd like to see anyone stop me." I reached for the door.

"Your father will!" She persisted. "If you defy him, he'll..."

"He'll what?" I asked in a sarcastic tone. "Kill me? Good. Great, he'll finally do something that is in my interest."

"You don't mean that," she insisted. I slung my pack over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I really do, actually." I said, in a calmer tone. I could faintly see the tip of my black hair at the tip of my brows. "This life, the life that I'm living...it's not a life I—or anyone in this world should live. And this war—the one that the gods are dragging us into... it's not my problem. This is strictly between Poseidon, Hades, and Zeus." I looked at her. She completely understood what I was saying. Every half-blood would. It's the same life, no matter your parentage these days. And in these ages, every half-blood that is not at camp, is frowned upon in public, due to the fact that we were all illegitimate children. Some of the parents made up stories to keep their reputation. The most common excuse used was that their spouse was dead. My mom told everyone that my father had business to do in the west. Which wasn't a lie.

"At least tell me where you're going?" She demanded, but it came out as a question.

"I don't know," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flash red.

"Seriously?" She asked, placing her hand on her hips. I quickly changed the subject.

"You can't tell me you've never done something your father wouldn't approve of." I told her. She grinned a satisfied smile.

"I do everything my father says,"

"Really?" I asked. "So he'd approve of the dress you're wearing?" She looked down at her pink-plaid dress as if she had forgotten she was wearing it. The dress went down to just over her knees, and she had muddy white socks pulled up to her upper shin. She had been complaining about her father would tell her 'dresses make you look weak, any daughter of mine shouldn't wear a dress, and if they do, I will not be happy.' But, to the best of my knowledge, Ares was never happy.

"No," she admitted. "But wearing a dress nowadays is the only way for a lady to be accepted in modern society."

She was no ordinary daughter of Ares. She was the one person, besides my mother, that I'd hate to part with.

"I should get going," I said, gripping the knob of the wooden door.

"Wait!" she said suddenly, placing her hand on my arm. "Please," her eyes begged me. "You don't know where you're going, or who you're going to meet. So please, if you're not going to Germany, come back to camp with me."

"I told you already," I said without hesitation. "I can't go back to that camp. Obviously, I'm not wanted. There's no cabin there, and I don't think the Zeus and Poseidon cabin would be to thrilled either."

"Who cares what they think?" she exclaimed. "You can stay in the Hermes cabin."

"Hmm..." I began sarcastically. "Sleeping on the floor in a small cramped cabin with a seven year-old brat next to me breathing in my face and snoring louder than a Cadillac motor? No thanks, I'd rather stay on the street."

"But-"

"Listen, Cynthia, you go back to camp. There's no reason for you to stay, I'm fine now... almost. But I can take care of myself, and camp is simply not my place." I told her for the hundredth time. I sheathed my sword against my side. She had come all the way from Camp after I had an...incident.

"If camp's not your place, than where is it?" She prodded, crossing her arms.

"I don't know."

--1--

I walked into the café, the breakfast aroma swirling around in my nostrils. Beacon and eggs, sausage and biscuits, my stomach growled, this would be my first real meal in weeks. I had been forced to eat scraps from all over Charlotte—anything I could find. At one point, I had been so hungry, I ate a buttery roll that had been thrown out by a restaurant days before. I could still taste the hard, crunchy crust of the roll, and the slipperiness of the surface from the butter. The smell was unbearable, and the taste wasn't much better. But you do what you have to.

The warning bell as I stepped through the door. A waitress with a short curly haircut with bandanna stretched across her head acknowledged me, gesturing with her head towards a table as she took the order of another customer.

I slid into a leather booth, snatching the cap that covered my greasy unclean hair. I placed it in my lap. I looked around. My breakfast would come soon; there was only one other person in the diner. I slid my hand over the menu, a thick black material was the outside cover, embroidered in a glimmering gold. On the front cover, there was a black-and-white picture. Two people, a man and woman, looking not older than thirty-five each, posed in front of a 1932 V-8 Ford. The man had the woman hoisted up in the air, his arm supporting her rear end. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt with a light cloth dress on top of it. A bonnet gripped her head, and her arms draped over the man's neck. He wore a suit with a tie that draped to his lower stomach. In his free hand, he held a western hat.

I recognized them immediately. They were the out-laws of the decade, the legendary Bonnie and Clyde. Famous for their various crimes, including robbery, grand theft, and murder.

There was one thing that was unsettling about this picture. They were smiling. Two of the biggest out-laws in American History, and they were... smiling. And I'm not talking 'smile for the camera' smiling. They were happy, laughing and having a good time.

"Beautiful, ain't they?" I looked up. The waitress towered over me, staring down at me, notepad in hand. She tapped the menu in my hand with her pencil. "You ready to order, or you just been starin' at that picture?"

"No, I'm not ready yet." I told her. She glanced down at the picture again.

"That Bonnie was sure a pretty girl, wasn't she?" I looked down timidly, and then met her eyes again.

"Yes ma'am," I said politely, truthfully. She flipped her curly blond hair over her shoulder and continued to talk, placing her pencil in between her lips.

"Now, you let me know when you're ready to order," she said, tightening the apron that was tied around her waist. I looked around her. There was a picture of the same Ford that Bonnie and Clyde posed in front of, except that in this side profile of the vehicle, the passenger door was wide open, exposing at least twenty bullet holes cut into the metal of the door.

"Excuse me," I said to the waitress. "How did Bonnie and Clyde get caught?I kind of... lost touch with the news as their... crime spree came to an end." Part of that was true... around the time that Bonnie and Clyde were apprehended in 1934—the same year my mother died 5 years ago, I was found by a group of traveling half-bloods just outside Alabama and was dragged off to Camp Half-Blood. The waitress spared a glance at the picture I was looking at.

"They weren't exactly caught. They were shot, actually," she out her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. "Right outside their hideout in Louisiana. They definitely asked for death, what, with all the crimes they'd done. But I ain't gonna' say that they deserved it." she looked towards the kitchen. "Call me when you're ready to order."

As she walked away, my heart dropped. This restaurant was decorated with Bonnie and Clyde. In fact, it seemed to be the theme of the place. And, on so many levels, I could relate to them. Constantly on the run, fearing for your life, knowing that you could never turn back to your old life. But, the one thing I couldn't relate to was the fact that they seemed to be happy with their life. Another picture, Bonnie was leaning against the Ford, this time by herself, arms crossed over her chest, smiling like a fashion model. Hearing about their life a few minutes ago seemed to be the only time I could remember since my mom died that I didn't feel suicidal.

I shook these thoughts from my mind, and finally cracked open the menu. I looked down the rows and columns of food, they all sounded so good, but then again, I hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. A gizzard would probably have sounded appealing at that point.

"From what I understand, you're planning on skipping Germany?" A course voice asked. I looked up, the shade of a thin black woman wrapped in dirt colored rags for clothes. It was Elana, a guardian appointed to me from my father.

"So?" I asked, not glancing up from my menu. "I guess my father sent me to talk you out of it?"

From the top of my eyes, I saw her place her hands on the table. "Yes," she said. I was expecting more, but she stopped at that.

"You can see why I wish death on myself, right? You can relate?" I lowered my menu.

"Yes, yes I can," I could barely see the ghost in the daylight, but it was still clear enough for me to see the remembrance in her eyes. Elana had been a slave at the very beginning of America's foundation. She had had four children, and watched as each of them were sold one-by-one. Her husband had died long before they were sold from a sickness she wouldn't describe. All she ever told me was that it was bad. She, herself had died from an infection of a wound from where her master had beaten her, and even as she was dying, the man made her work, and every time she slowed down, he'd whip her with a strap of leather with a nail tied at the end.

"Was there ever a time in your life where you felt as if things would finally play out in your favor, then have it ripped out from under you?" I asked, noticing the waitress and the staff around her watching me, she held a tray of food in her hands, and was slowly making her way over to the other customer's table. To me, seeing and interacting with a person. But to the mortals, there was just a psycho kid talking to himself.

"In fact, there was," she said, leaning back in her booth. "Right before my husband died, there was talk of escape among all the slaves. We never saw each other face-to-face, but, even back then there were ways to get gossip around. For the first time since my enslavement, I felt like there was an ounce of hope for me, my husband and two children," she stopped, her eyes in deep thought, and then she added. "I was pregnant at the time, and my fourth child came sometime later."

"So what happened?" I asked. She looked me straight in the eyes.

"The first man to try the escape was a slave that was to the north of me, didn't know him, not even his name. But as I was working in the corn fields one day, I heard a whisper through the fence. It was the slave next door I guess, I really don't know, but it was a woman's voice. She warned me not to try an escape, the slave who tried first had stolen his master's horse and escaped by horseback, but he was cutoff in no time, taken back to his master where he was beaten to death."

I was stunned. I couldn't tell exactly, but it seemed to me that Elana had had a life that was as bad or worse than mine. But I also felt relief, knowing that my life could be worse, knowing that Elana and I had suffered through similar situations. Deaths, pain, fear.

"It was really that bad?" I asked finally.

She nodded. "I will never forget the way my master would look as he beat one of us, the fire behind his dark brown eyes as he whipped us, and hit us across the head or face with whatever was available. It seemed to me he beat the children even harder."

"He beat the children?" I asked, my blood boiling.

"But of course," she replied. "Even as they weren't even a year old, he'd beat them because they wouldn't stop crying. I even remember him beating them when they were children. I'd stand from a close distance and beg for him to show mercy to them, that they were just children. Or I'd beg him to beat me instead. I would cry furiously as they did. He always responded that it would be better for them to learn at an early age." she looked at me, I couldn't see to well, but it looked like a tear was sliding down her transparent face. "Do you realize what it was like for me to watch my own children be beat to tears and blood?"

I shook my head. "Can't even imagine." So her life had been worse than mine... so far. "I guess my father's the same to you?"

She shrugged. "Not really, he never lays a hand on a soul."

"You want to hear something that even I think about and laugh?" I asked her.

"Sure,"

"On one of the visits I had with my mother at the cemetery, she told me that she was attracted to my father because he was a pure romantic. He would say just the right things at the right time, and he even left notes for her that appeared mysteriously in her bedchamber."

"What's funny about that?" she asked. "Sounds sweet."

"But get this," I continued. "She said he was Lord of the Dance." I expected at least a snicker, but she just stared back at me. I guess it was just funny to me, something about imagining my father doing the Charleston or some other funky dance. The waitress approached me.

"Find anything?" she asked.

"Yeah," I told her. "I'll have the Texan sandwich." She nervously jotted the order on her notepad and took it to the kitchen. Something about talking to a nutcase...

I looked back at Elana. "Why did my father assign you to me instead of a Fury or someone?"

She shrugged. "I don't have the foggiest idea. I guess he thought we'd make a good match after your...accident."

I sighed. "I told you already. It was no accident. I slit my wrist on purpose."

She looked down.

"I'm still not going to Germany," I protested.

"Fine," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I can't make you go. But know this: when your father finds out, all three furies will be out looking for you within the hour."

"Like I care," I exclaimed. "They can't punish me. Hades's only suitable punishment is death, and if he kills me, I will be grateful."

"Don't underestimate the Lord of the Dead, if you do, you will have an eve greater surprise than what's to come."

And with that, she faded away, fading away into nothingness.

The diner grew quiet. The only sound was the sizzling of the meat that would go on my sandwich. And as I waited, I went into deep thought.

--2--

I hustled down the sidewalk, slapping my cap back on my head. Looking behind me, I broke into a run. No, I wasn't running from anything. I was running to something. I ran past people, pushing through them and jumping over roots that cracked through the sidewalk, until I came across the place I was looking for.

The Blue Lake. A privately owned lake in the middle of the city. I slowed to a walk, and headed straight for the dock. Tension built up within me, the same tension that I knew from when I slit my wrist. My heart pounded, half from running for so long, and half from anxiety. I was sweating nervously as I approached the dock.

After talking with Elana, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get it over with. End my life. The way I was seeing it; I was going to live for sixty or so more years, and if they were any thing like my first fourteen, they'd be filled with fear, and depression. Things would happen to me, heartbreaking things that would give me years of sorrow. And then, I'd have the rest of eternity in the Underworld to have to relive those things in my memories. But, I figured if I ended it now, those memories wouldn't happen, and I might not suffer through sixty more years of torture in the Realm of the Living, and suffer with those memories forever. You could tell that Elana still suffered from the heartbreaks that she went though during her life, and that was over one hundred years ago!

If my plan worked, I could stop my heartbreak before it even began.

The Big Three would kill the other's children if they crossed into their domain, so if I were to jump into the lake...

Without thinking a second time, I pounced, watching as the I came closer to the water....

A hand gripped my suspenders, yanking me back onto the dock. I heard the small snap! Of the latches that held my dark green suspenders to my pants as they came unsnapped, and before I could do anything, my pants were around my ankles. I quickly yanked them up, looking around. No one was watching. But, the hand that still gripped my shirt tightened. She hadn't even cracked a smile.

I looked upon the face of the Fury. "Megaera," I growled, distinguishing her from her sisters'.

"Are you insane?" She snapped.

"Sometimes I think so," I told her. Her eyes began to glow a bright red. She ignored my comment.

"Your father will not be please at your second attempt."

"Darn!" I cried sarcastically, adding a small snap. "Because I just live to please that dictator."

"Where have you been, anyhow?" She persisted. "You're going to miss your departure."

"Psh, I'm not going to Germany," I pulled from her grasp. "Find some other kid to push around."

She glared at me. "You will not speak up to me, and you will to to Germany."

"I will not!" I yelled. "You can't make me."

"Your father will punish you..." Her voice trailed off.

"With what? A stern lecture? He has no control over me anymore! His only punishment is death, and as you've just seen, I wouldn't mind that." I rebelled.

She grinned a twisted smile. "Your father thought you'd say that. You should know he's initiated a punishment just for you."

My brow twisted on my forehead. I wasn't expecting that. Her fangs jarred from her mouth. She was trying to scare me, but she didn't. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"He created a punishment just for you."

"Oh?" I asked calmly, as if this was no big news, but fear started to trickle up my spine.

"Yes. Instead of killing you, he'll let you live." She explained. A confused look crossed my face. Lame punishment so far. "He'd also grant you the curse of immortality."

I shrugged. "So? That's not so bad."

"That's not all. He'd torture you by constantly sending monsters after you, he told me he'd rip away every person you get close to by having them killed." She grinned again. "Just as he did your mother."

Color washed over my face. I wanted to punch the hag in the face. She had no right to be saying the things she was saying. "Is that what you want?" she asked. I managed a smug look.

"Yes," I said, crossing my arms. "That's exactly what I want."

She looked down at me, she was at least a head taller than I. "That's not what you want. You know that, and I know that." She grabbed my forearm with a tight grip, and dragged me off. I had no choice. I had to go with her. I was going to Germany.

Wait a second...

"Hey!" I said, yanking my arm from her. "How are we supposed to get to another country? It's not like we can take a train. Boats and passenger planes are off limits, too."

She got another solid firm grip on my arm. "Easy. You're going to be taking The Labyrinth."