A/N This chapter is going to go to storm-brain, because she was with me when I started Thalia the Hunter, and offered constructive criticism the entire way. I was always expecting a review from storm-brain.

So this one's to storm-brain.

We waited behind the dumpster, I looked around the cold surface of the can, watching the door attentively, waiting for Carter and Alexandria to burst out of the building, heads swiveling around, eyes searching the streets for us.

But they didn't. The only time I couldn't see the doorway was when by passer's legs blocked my view. Cynthia and Estelle huddled in against the wall of the building the dumpster belonged to, waiting for me to give the signal that it was okay to leave, breathing heavy, I stuck more of my body from behind the giant metal trash can. Still nothing; nobody even spared a glance in the door's direction. I didn't think they even noticed that we had emerged in a run from that hellhole. A small girl, not even seven-looking stopped at the front of the dumpster. A woman pulled at her wrist, urging her to come on. But she stood in front of me, small black shoes and long white socks that reached the end of her medium-length checkered dress.

"Mommy!" She said, as if she was excited. "There's a boy on the floor!"

I noticed the English accent when her mother spoke. "Come on, dear, we're going to be late for your appointment."

"But...but," she stammered, disappointed. Her mother tugged at her arm from just out of my sight. I stayed where I was, practically nailed to the ground on all fours with fear. "He's got a sword! A shiny black one!" the girls eyes lit up. But her mother had finally tugged her along.

I looked back at the girls. "I don't think they're coming out." I glanced back at the door that we had left the Labyrinth through.

"We can't go back through there if they don't," said know-it-all Estelle. It was the first time I got a really good glance at her. Her flowing brown eyes, her blazing white teeth. I had to face it, she was perfect. Annoyingly so.

My mind trailed off to a visit I'd had with my mother. Nobody's perfect, she'd said. Not Zeus, not me, or anyone that was ever born. Aphrodite may think she's perfect, but that's a whole other story.

So what you're trying to say, I'd added sarcastically. Is that no one's perfect? I thought that she'd laugh at that, as she'd repeated the word 'perfect' over and over. I'd hoped that she would find that funny, and she'd laugh like she used to. Like we used to. But she didn't. She looked down at me, and continued.

My point is that everyone has some flaws. In fact it's my pessimistic belief that everyone has more bad qualities than good to them. You can't expect that your father will always decide the best things. He's not human, but Prometheus based humans on the gods, therefore human flaws descend directly from the gods.

That conversation still bugged me somehow. I figured my father had been alive three- thousand years, if he hadn't figured out life by then, he needed to get a tutor.

I had pretty much figured out how life worked. There were three types of people. Lower status, medium status, and upper status. Lower status people live a crappy life full of misery, deceit, sorrow and death. Medium status folk live in houses, have friends, have a half-hard, half-easy life and then they die. Upper status don't need friends because they only befriend money. They live in houses that you could fit a dwarf-planet into, and employ useless butlers and maids to do all their bidding.

Guess which one I'm in.

Let's see, I didn't have a house at all to live in, so that takes out medium status, and I definitely didn't have the money to afford people who wasted their lives in school to learn how to fetch me a cup of water. Sounds like a no-brainier.

That's why I wanted my mom back. I thought maybe if I had the only person who I ever loved me, my life would be bearable. I might actually want to live to see another sun rise over the trees in Virginia, or watch the wild horses run majestically through the wide-open green-grass forests in Montana.

But, no. Instead of doing things that appealed to me or made me happy with my life, I was on my hands and knees like an animal, soaking wet from my dip in the fresh-water aquarium, smelling like a mix of fish-flakes and dirty water, hiding behind a dumpster in England—most likely. And the worst part right now; I was kneeling in something green.

No need to make a big deal about it, I simply repositioned my knees.

"We're going to have to go back through there," Cynthia said, still slightly out of breath.

"No!" Cried Estelle. "Are you insane? They'll slaughter us." Cynthia looked at her, sharing her father's glare with the daughter of Demeter.

"Look, you got any better ideas?" She asked, I could tell she was irritated. Estelle looked intimidated, but she was trying not to show it. Without getting an answer, Cynthia stood up. She balled her fists, and headed across the street to the door. She looked back as I stood up, but she held a hand up, telling me to stop. I stood in place, not knowing what to do. I couldn't just let her go alone, but I couldn't exactly risk my own neck. It took me a moment to realize how selfish that was of me.

But I was too late, Cynthia's hand was already turning the knob of the wooden door. She slung it open, raising her fists to her face, as if to block a punch. I was ready to charge into the street, but she stopped, looking baffled, she motioned us across the street.

I slid my sword into my soaking-wet backpack, re-situated the pack on my shoulder, and Estelle and I walked nonchalantly across the street, looking both ways for oncoming automobiles.

We met up with her at the door, she stepped out of the way, exposing a closet. That's right, a tiny closet. Completely empty, the size was the same as that of a janitor's closet. Daylight streamed in, lighting up the far corners. I wiped my finger against the cold stone wall, leaving a trail where my finger swept up the dust. "What happened? The entrance was in here, we all saw it!" I said, bewildered.

Cynthia shrugged. "Guess it was in innie and not an outie."

Estelle sighed, reflecting on our situation. She lit up. "But that's okay, right? We're in England now, so we can take a train to Germany, don't you think?" Cynthia and I exchanged looks, clearly unsure about that suggestion. "Okay!" Estelle said, not caring about our input. "I'll get directions." she trotted off to the pedestrians, approaching a man in a slick black suit and a briefcase.

I studied her as she interacted with the man, he smiled as she talked, and she laughed. "Have you ever seen someone as perfect as her?" I asked, disapprovingly to Cynthia, who watched her as well. Estelle gestured to us, and the man spared a quick glance.

"I've never seen someone who thinks she's as perfect as she does." Cynthia said, disgust in her voice.

"I know," I agreed. "She fights with magic fruits. How useful can she be?"

"I don't know," Cynthia shook her head, her wavy red hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. Estelle flipped her own hair over her shoulder flirtatiously while talking to the middle-aged Englishmen, but she looked at me from the corner of her eyes. My stomach did a flip. "Those stupid fruits scared Carter and the mer-jerk pretty badly. Oh, and speaking of her—" she hit me on the shoulder. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Gregory. I'll kill you myself before I let some half-fish hussy drag you to the bottom of the ocean."

I kept my focus on Estelle, watching her intently, purposely ignoring Cynthia's comment. "She has a flow somewhere, and I'm going to figure it out." Estelle came running back, eyes twinkling in delight. "He says the train station is a block or so away. He also said I had beautiful eyes, but that's not the point." she smiled, and paused. "I'm just glad he wasn't a racist like every mortal in America."

It was true. In America, there was large discrimination against blacks. They couldn't eat in some restaurants, or use some of the bathrooms. But in England, it was much... friendlier that America. I'm not saying there weren't problems, but...

I could see why Estelle stayed at camp. At camp, everything was equal. Well, Chiron treated everyone equal, but there were still those kids that come in as new campers, and discriminate. Chiron turned them around.

"We should start walking, then." I said, and without a moment of protest, we made off down the street.