Hi gang! Happy Thursday! This is a little later than I'd anticipated, but I was delayed due to monster eye infection earlier this week. All better now, though, and this thing's ready to go!

Thanks to those of you who reviewed last week! Wanna see how our other star player is doing? Then come on down...

Enjoy!

We are the jack-o-lanterns in July / Setting fire to the sky
Here comes this rising tide

The loud twang of amped guitar chords cut aggressively through the heavy silence that hung suspended in the still air of the small, temporary office room, and Percy Jackson sat up so fast he nearly tipped his chair over backwards in alarm.

It took him several long seconds to gather his bearings. Had he actually just let himself doze off? Seriously? He didn't exactly have time to be sleeping. There were way too many more important issues that needed his attention than his own exhaustion.

The guitar riff halted abruptly and started over again, drawing Percy's attention to where his cell had lit up on the desk in front of him with an incoming call. Rubbing his tired eyes with an irritated grimace, he snagged his phone and read the name on the screen, sparing a brief glance to its corner to check the time. 7:42 PM. He breathed a weak groan and tapped the screen to answer the call.

"Harrison," he said into it, stopping to clear his throat when his voice came out scratchy. Exactly how long had he been out?

"Is this a bad time?" Harrison Stoll asked from the line's other end.

"No, it's fine," Percy insisted, blinking hard and shaking his head. "Tell me you found a buyer."

"I did, but I'm not sure you're gonna like it."

Percy furrowed his brow. "Try me."

He heard Harrison sigh before answering, "It's Medusa."

Percy bit his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. He'd avoided doing any sort of business with the small, all-female organization Medusa since January, when some of their members had stolen a stock of explosive ballistics mid-transport from Hank Beckendorf's team of specialists. He'd been part of a contingency sent to intercept Medusa when they'd tried to sell the rounds to another group—a disastrous operation that had resulted in the death of a long-time friend of his. In his opinion, Medusa was a dangerous gang, too volatile to place too much trust in.

But on the other hand, he had to sell this equipment, and the longer he dawdled the more risky his situation would become. His uncle Ezekiel Grace, former codename Zeus and his predecessor as Olympus's central division head, had left him with a rather troubling share of problems. Before his death, Zeke had begun laying plans for a civil war among the organization. He'd been gathering his closest followers and stocking up on specialized weapons, building an arsenal—an arsenal that Percy unknowingly inherited when he took on his uncle's role. And if he didn't want to be seen as a threat to some of the more cautious factions of the organization—well, more than he undoubtedly was already thanks to the controversial manner of his takeover—he had to get rid of Zeke's stock. Fast.

Which left him with a decision to make—deal with Medusa, with whom Olympus had always had a bit of a rocky relationship, or hold onto Zeke's arsenal and risk driving a wedge of suspicion between himself and his subordinates.

"So what do you think?" Harrison asked when he received no immediate reply. "I can decline if you want, but it could be a while until we get another buyer lined up."

Percy shut his eyes and pressed the palm of his free hand against his forehead, applying force to the constant headache that hadn't receded in weeks. Harrison had a point, this could very well provide the last chance they'd have for some time. And the simplest truth, boiled down to the barest of facts, was that placing trust in Medusa was less dangerous than risking the trust of Olympus's members.

"Alright, take them up," he told Harrison heavily. "But I'm sending Paul and Tammy to make the exchange. This has to go well and it has to send the right message."

"Right," was Harrison's dutiful reply. "I'll make sure Danielle's in the loop."

"Good. Thanks, Harrison."

The man was quiet for a few seconds and Percy was about to end the call when his voice said carefully, "…Try not to worry so much, Percy. You've got a handle on this. Just relax."

Percy could picture Harrison's stormy blue eyes ringed by wrinkled smile lines, watching him with barely-shielded concern beneath angled gray eyebrows. It was almost enough to relieve some of the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders, but his mind was far too preoccupied to focus on the reassurance for long. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled wryly.

Harrison breathed out quickly and Percy imagined him bearing a sad smile. "Maybe." Then a low, double beep sounded signaling that the call had been disconnected.

Percy lowered his phone and groaned wearily, dropping his head to the desk with a dull thud. He supposed that was one crisis averted, though it hadn't been resolved in quite the way he would've hoped. Actually, not a lot of things had gone quite the way he'd hoped since he'd accepted Zeke's job two months ago at the behest of his father and remaining uncle. He hadn't thought it possible for Zeke to screw him over any more after the man's untimely defeat, but somehow he'd been wrong. Even from the grave, Ezekiel freaking Grace found a way to make his nephew's life hell.

It was true that no one, discounting his friends at the CIA of course, was after Percy's life anymore (at least, not that he knew of), but that certainly didn't mean things had gotten any easier. Apparently, in the past few months during which Zeke had spent the majority of his resources on equal parts war preparations and hunting Percy down to eliminate a threat that hadn't really existed beforehand, the crime lord had managed to neglect the central division's relations with the continent's other organizations—many of which were crucial to the general upkeep of Olympus's status and business. Now Percy was busy working overtime to repair what Zeke had broken, while simultaneously attempting to prove to his new subordinates that he wasn't some power-hungry usurper. And then—as if that wasn't enough—there was their ongoing and increasingly-critical rivalry with the CIA to worry about as well.

Percy hadn't realized exactly how serious of a problem that rivalry was until two months ago, when Duke Atlas himself had clashed with him and a few others at the Willis Tower there in Chicago. It was like a declaration of war—the opening battle before a series of assaults that would undoubtedly invite nothing but open bloodshed. Neither Olympus nor the CIA had struck further just yet, but the campaign had begun nonetheless. It was only a matter of time before the next conflict. And somehow, as cliché as it was, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help hoping that if something bad was headed their way, it had nothing to do with his fiancée, Annabeth. It was a long shot, of course, considering the extremely dangerous mission she'd undertaken six weeks ago. But try as he might, Percy couldn't imagine a way he could pull things together if something were to happen to her. He hadn't wanted her leaving at first, setting off after Atlas to retrieve the friend he'd captured during their encounter at the Tower. He'd tried to convince her otherwise. But he knew better than anyone how difficult it was to win an argument with the headstrong former assassin, so in the end he'd been forced to back off. Logically, she of course had been in the right—her CIA background gave her a clear advantage when compared to any prospective substitute. But that didn't exactly make him feel any better about it.

A curt knock on the office door once again startled Percy out of his stupor, and he ground his teeth in annoyance when he realized he'd started to drift off again. Was his lack of restful sleep really starting to affect him so much?

Man, I wish I could take a day off… he thought ruefully. Heck, I'd take a few hours. Anything to keep me from falling unconscious in the middle of the day.

"It's open," he called to the door in response to the knock, again squeezing his dry eyes shut and massaging his sore forehead. He heard the door open and a strange mechanical squeak accompanied the few short footsteps that neared.

"Hello, Percy."

Percy's eyes snapped open and fixed on the two men in the doorway. His gaze passed over the younger one without interest and rested on the older, who was seated comfortably in a worn motorized wheelchair with his hands folded in his lap. His warm brown eyes, squinted from years of smiling, peered across the room as the corners of his lips turned up, barely visible beneath his scraggy brown-and-gray beard. It was a face that Percy hadn't seen in quite a long time—but a face he couldn't ever forget.

"Professor Brunner," he said in surprise, immediately springing to his feet as his eyes widened. "What… What are you doing here?"

"Please," Brunner said off-handedly, waving an arm. "How long have we known each other? Call me Charles."

Percy felt himself smile, though he didn't amend his statement. He'd met Charles Brunner on his first day of classes at John Jay almost seven years ago. The man had taught him every year until graduation, even given him extra lessons outside office hours to make sure his lack of academic aptitude and dyslexic disorder hadn't resulted in his failing half his classes. He'd been something of a mentor to Percy for years, even before he'd later discovered the teacher's secret position as the head of espionage organization Centaur, a long-time ally of Olympus's. No matter how many times Brunner made that request, he would always be Professor in Percy's eyes.

"I got your message regarding your organizational changes," Brunner explained, wheeling himself farther into the room. "I rather thought congratulations were in order."

"You didn't have to come all the way to Chicago just for that," Percy pointed out, stepping around the desk. "I'd have been fine with a phone call."

"Well, it's been a while since our last visit," Brunner went on with a small smile and a dim twinkle in his eyes. "I was curious to see how you've changed. And, admittedly…" His smile fell noticeably as he lowered his chin and added, "I did have another reason. A more… delicate matter, one I thought it best to discuss in person."

Percy frowned, chest tightening with a twinge of anxiety as Brunner exchanged a nod with his companion and the man silently left the room, closing the door tight behind him.

"Before we get to that, however," Brunner began, smile returning as he shifted to look at Percy. With perfect poise, he placed his feet on the floor and stood from his chair, rising to his full height of six-foot-three, before stepping forward and reaching out to clasp Percy's hand, pulling him into a comfortable embrace.

Percy knew the wheelchair was nothing but a farce to throw off Brunner's potential enemies and thus was unsurprised by the motion, but the man's earlier words had thrown him off and he still found it difficult to return the friendly greeting with equal enthusiasm. If Brunner noticed, however, he made no comment.

"How have you been?" the professor asked as he released his former student and observed him critically. "You look well, if a bit on the exhausted side."

Percy grinned weakly. "You can tell?"

Brunner responded with a knowing smile, eyebrows drawing together. "I heard from your father what happened with Zeke. I was appalled, to say the least, that he would attempt assassination of his own nephew—and to start a war among family, no less? Not to speak ill of the dead, but I believe you will make a much more fitting leader than the one he had become before the end."

Percy shook his head, leaning back against the corner of the desk with a heavy sigh that pulled at his aching shoulder muscles. "I want to believe you, but… Well, it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park so far."

Brunner folded his arms. "You're having difficulties?"

"I'm going crazy here," Percy admitted, waving his arms in a defeated sort of gesture. "Zeke left me a friggin' mess to clean up. I have to undo all his 'civil war' crap before someone calls me out on it, convince his fan club that I'm not the next Genghis Kahn, personally explain to basically our entire underground network what's been going down, and, in all my spare time, try to come up with a way to deal with our damn CIA problem." He shut his eyes again and lowered his head, resting it against his hands as the tension in his muscles seemed to constrict his throat and make it difficult to breathe. "I swear, Professor, if one more thing goes wrong, I'm gonna lose it."

Brunner was quiet for a couple of long seconds, and when he spoke again his voice was tight with restraint. "I'm sorry, Percy, but… in that case, my news isn't going to be something you'll want to hear."

Slowly Percy lifted his head, unable to keep the anxious, beleaguered expression from his face. "What?" he asked, a little afraid of the answer.

"You say you've been having trouble earning the trust of Zeke's most loyal subordinates," Brunner went on with a dark frown, "but it seems the situation is worse than you realize. The other day I was approached by a nameless individual from United—someone who, I assume, was close to your uncle when he was in power. He asked me and my organization to support the claim of United's CFO, Jason Sharpe, who they profess to be Zeke's personally appointed heir and the rightful owner of the position of Olympus's central division head."

Percy stared at Brunner, feeling like the professor had just punched him in the gut. He'd known Zeke's closest followers still didn't completely trust him, but to hear that someone was gathering them in a possible attempt to overthrow him… Brunner was right, this news was most definitely not something he wanted to hear.

"So there's…" he muttered, his mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry, "gonna be an uprising."

"Not yet," Brunner said thoughtfully. "I'm sure they plan to wait until they have enough external support to form a stand against you. You do have the majority of Olympus's leaders on your side already, which, I'm sure, is intimidating. They also were kind—or foolish—enough to inform me that Sharpe has enough on his plate at the moment, seeing as he was appointed acting CEO of the company upon Zeke's death. I do not think you're in any immediate danger, but I still thought it prudent to see that you were properly warned."

"What did you tell them?" Percy wondered, wringing his hands in an attempt to quell some of the nervous adrenaline that had begun to tingle beneath his skin.

"I told them I would consider the offer," Brunner responded. "I don't plan on accepting, of course—my loyalty to you and your father would never allow it. But I'm afraid there will be little I can do if they gather the support necessary to pose a threat. Still, remember that you will always have my help, in whatever way you may need it."

Percy wanted to smile, but the problems stacked up against him seemed to finally reach the exact weight required to render that particular facial expression impossible. Instead he dropped his arms with a sigh and said heavily, "Thanks, Professor. That means a lot. Really."

"Friendship is no trouble, Percy," Brunner replied with a warm smile. As he lowered himself back into his wheelchair, he added, "I'm sorry I can't stay and catch up, but I have business to attend to while I'm here in Chicago. If you ever need me, please don't hesitate to call."

"I won't," Percy promised, striding across the room to open the door for his former teacher. He waved goodbye and managed a weak half-smile that he assumed must have looked more like a grimace, before Brunner was gone and he shut the door once again on a thick, suffocating silence.

"Aw, man…" he mumbled to the empty air, leaning his arms and forehead against the closed office door. It had been nice to see his college mentor again, but that didn't change the fact that he now felt worse after the brief meeting than he had before. He sincerely hoped Annabeth was having more luck on her venture than he was—though, admittedly, the opposite was extremely unlikely. He wasn't sure his situation could actually get any worse.

Whoa, let's not think that, he scolded himself, shaking his head. That's like inviting the freakin' universe to screw with—

Again his cell ringtone suddenly broke into his train of thought, making him jump and spin around toward the desk behind him. Praying to whatever god liked torturing him that this wouldn't be more bad news, he crossed the room and picked up his phone with fingers shaking with agitation.

"Jackson," he said into it, not bothering to glance at the name on the screen as he answered the call.

"We got a problem, Perce," the voice of Grover Underwood, Percy's best friend since junior high, answered tensely.

Percy felt like hurling his phone across the office. "When don't we?" he shot back with more force than was technically called for. And maybe if he was under just a little less stress, he'd feel bad. As it was, though, he didn't. Was it his fault Grover didn't understand that this really wasn't the time?

"…It's your dad."

The leaden tone of Grover's voice wiped every trace of scorn from Percy's tongue. His heart seemed to slam against his ribcage for a few painful beats as he asked tentatively, "What about my dad?"

"His meeting with the Lester brothers, it…" Grover explained, obvious trepidation in his jumpy inflection, "it was intercepted by the CIA. Kronos was there."

"What?" Percy stammered. The CIA director himself had made a move already?

"Things went so wrong, man, there was nothing anyone could do." Grover paused to take a slow, unsteady breath. His voice softened as he admitted, "Your dad's hurt, Percy. It's bad."

Percy swallowed hard, which was a difficult task given the obstruction of the anxious lump that had formed in his throat. "How bad?"

"…You should come back to New York," was Grover's only answer. "Soon."

No way… Percy thought inwardly, heart dropping into his stomach. He finally allowed himself to temporarily forget the looming collection of problems and threats he had hanging menacingly over his shoulder as his senses all focused on one—if Grover's grim tone was any indication, Parker Grace's life was in real, serious danger. His father was one of the only direct family members Percy had left, one of the people he cared about before all else, the people he'd sworn to protect. What the hell was he doing 700 miles away, worrying about his own situation?

Feeling an angry glare contort his already-exhausted facial features, Percy told Grover gravely, "I'm on my way."

Not extensively edited since I was impatient at the end and wanted to get this up, but I think errors are minimal. Feel free to point any out to me if you see 'em so I can fix 'em.

Anyway, yikes, huh? Oh trust me, I've got some major drama planned for this story. It's gonna be heart-wrenchingly epic, I swear, haha. You'll all love/hate me for it.

Review on your way out? Thanks, everybody! See you soon, and later days!

-oMM