You know the deal. Anything you recognize likely belongs to some rich famous person.

Here it is, then. The second chapter that will make or break this story...

Wow, I can be dramatic sometimes. Anyways, enjoy the story.

Cheers!

~Airrynn

P.S. This chapter is dedicated to one of my friends and readers, the girl who spent the entire time since the first chapter was posted nagging me to write the second. The girl who has, is, and will continue to give her support for this story and all my other ideas.

Go Nugget Support!

Ayden Evans is strange.

The whispered sentence (sometimes spoken with an odd tone of hushed awe, sometimes spat out hatefully) had followed me around for just about as long as I can remember. And it's true. I know I'm strange. For one, I have no living blood relatives, at least not any that I give a damn about. The last bit of my family, my mom, has been dead since I was eight. My dad ditched my mom before I was born, and my mom's close relatives are either dead or don't care.

The second is the fact that I live on the streets. I have money, enough to live off for now, but I don't have an actual home. Instead I travel cross-country for the most part. Whenever I feel like going to an actual school, not just online, I use one of my 'abilities' to get in. School isn't really at the top of my list of things to do.

The third reason is a bit more complicated. The fact that I'm not normal for a half-blood or for a Hunter.

At first I was just a Hunter with a crappy life-story, now, though….

Well life just got a whole lot more complicated.

It started when the school I hacked, forged, and lied through my teeth to get into, Yancy Academy, decided to take a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had very little faith in this decision, I mean, who in their right mind loads twenty-eight mental case students and two teachers onto a bright yellow school bus to go to a museum full of old, expensive and severely breakable items?

The only thing that gave me a tiny jot of hope for this misadventure was the fact that Mr. Brunner, our latin teacher, was leading the field-trip.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning brown hair and a scruffy beard, and always wore this frayed tweed that smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think that he's the coolest, but he was alright. He told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of ancient Greek and Roman armor and weaponry.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped I wouldn't get into trouble, or worse, a hunt.

I really should know that it's just inevitable by now. Being close enough to the Winchesters to be considered a brother and their inability to stay away from trouble seems to have rubbed off on me. Plus my patron deity is a lord of chaos. He'd just as soon set me up for trouble than keep me from it.

This time I was pretty determined to be, well not good, but…. keep out of too much trouble. That's it.

All the way into the city, I listened to my iPod and tried to ignore the fact that Nancy Bobofit, a freckly, redheaded, kleptomaniac girl was hitting Grover, my roommate, in the back of the head with chunks of peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Admittedly, Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny, and had some sort of muscular disease in his legs, so the other kids saw him as a cripple. He sometimes cried when he got upset, and appeared to have been held back for several grades.

But he had a strange sort of inner strength and loyalty. He was always kind to everyone, even the bullies, and so he was the only person I had gotten close enough to call a friend.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she 'knew' I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on headmaster had threatened me with a slow death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. Which was exactly why I was screwed. There was no possible way that wouldn't happen with me around.

"I'm going to kill her," I muttered under my breath.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

I gave him a look, and he dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me gently back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

"When has that ever stopped me, Grover?" I challenged.

"Never, Ayden, and I know that better than most. But please just let it go," he pleaded.

Looking back on it, I should've let my redheaded temper get the better of me and just knocked Nancy on her ass. In-school suspension or even expulsion would have been nothing compared to the mess I was about to step in.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the huge, echoing galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of ancient black-and-orange clay pottery.

It's kind of mind-blowing that this stuff had survived for thousands of years, unaided, but it didn't surprise me on some subconscious level, since the things I hunt can be ancient themselves.

He gathered us around a stele, a thirteen-foot-tall carved stone column with a sphinx on the top. He started telling us how it was a grave marker for a girl about our age. I sighed inwardly at the surprise on some of the other students' faces, twelve was too young to pass, but as a Hunter, I've witnessed more death than men three or four times my age have.

Mr. Brunner started talking about the engravings on the sides. I tried to listen, because the man is a born storyteller, but unfortunately the other students didn't get that and were running their mouths. I kept glaring at them to make them shut up, but every time I got them to shut their mouths, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this mean, little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she looked about fifty years old. She was mean enough to ride a Harley into your locker, or crash the Impala just to spite you. She'd come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to suffer through after-school detention with her for a month.

After one of the times she made me erase answers after old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right." Now, if that didn't send my hunting senses off, nothing will.

Mr. Brunner kept telling us about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked man on the stele, and I marched myself over to her, leant down and whispered in her ear, "If you can't deal with a picture of a naked guy, how are you ever going to get a boyfriend?"

She yelped and flushed bright red in embarrassment, nearly matching her hair color. I smirked to myself as I stepped away from her and back to Grover.

Mr. Brunner stopped with his story. Damn, he'd noticed.

"Mr. Evans, Ms. Bobofit," he said. "Did you have something to share with the class."

Nancy mumbled something, still embarrassed. I grinned innocently. "Nope," I announced cheerfully. The whole group laughed. They may not like me much, but, hey, humor's humor, no matter who shows it.

I swear I saw a glimpse of amusement in Mr. Brunner's deep brown eyes. He seemed to get as much of a kick out of the situation as the rest of us. He pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps, Mr. Jackson, you'll tell us what this picture represents."

I glanced at the carving and shrugged, because I recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his children."

"Yes," Mr. Brunner agreed, but he was obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because…"

"Well…" I drew the word out, collecting my thoughts. "Kronos was the king of the second generation of the gods-"

"Gods?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Yes," I nodded, ignoring the odd rumble of thunder outside. "They were known as the Titans, and as the children of the Protogenoi, or primordials who were the first generation of gods, the Titans were second-generation gods. Anyways, Kronos had been given a prophecy that said that one of his children would overthrow him the same way that Kronos had overthrown his father, Ouranos. Kronos was power-hungry and paranoid. In order to avoid the prophecy coming to pass, he devoured all of his children when they were born. But his wife, Rhea, hid her youngest child, Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock instead. Zeus grew up to eventually force his father to throw up his siblings-"

"Eeew," said one of the girls behind me.

I rolled my eyes but continued. "-and the war that followed, known as the Titanomachy, ended when the three sons of Kronos; Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus hacked Kronos to pieces with his own weapon, thus fulfilling the prophecy."

Some snickers and coughed "teacher's pet" and "nerd" came from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Evans," Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered"

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about the question for a moment, then shrugged. "To teach us to not be paranoid to the extent of our own downfalls, I suppose."

"Oh?" Mr. Brunner leaned forward, looking intrigued. "Please explain."

I tried to think of a proper way to respond. It's hard, the subject of paranoia, because when it comes to it, I'm a damned hypocrite, like anyone else in the job, or on the streets. I sighed. "Well, paranoia's a good thing, so long as it keeps you alive and in one piece. But if you're paranoid to the point where you don't do anything, or start staring at everyone around with suspicion, it'll only kill you faster."

Mr. Brunner nodded. "An interesting point, Mr. Evans. A tad melodramatic, perhaps, but there we are. Now on that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls still holding their stomachs, the guys pushing eachother around and acting like doofuses. I watched them go, feeling disassociated, separated out. 'A tad melodramatic,' I scoffed internally. Not when it keeps you alive.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Evans."

I had a guess as to what was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go- intense brown eyes that could've been thousands of years old and seen so much. It almost made me shiver at how much it actually looked like my patron, Loki's gaze. Pain hidden deep down.

"You raised many good points in the discussion today," Mr. Brunner told me.

"Thank you, sir," I nodded, careful to keep my tone neutral. He was my favorite teacher, and I was really hoping that if he was supernatural, he wouldn't try to kill me.

"But," he continued, his voice holding a quiet warning, "you would do well to take your own advice."

I tensed slightly, a reflex gained purely from Hunting for nearly five years now. "Yes, sir." I mumbled.

"What you said today will keep you alive. What you learn from me," he said seriously, "is vitally important. I expect that you'll treat it a such. I will only accept the best from you, Mr. Evans."

I almost wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Greek or Roman armor and shouted, "What ho!" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to board and name every Greek or Roman person who ever lived, their mother, and what god they worshiped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everyone else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and ADHD, as well as the very few records of any schooling. No- he didn't expect me to be as good, he expected me to be better. And even if I was fluent in the language (not that I was letting anyone know that little tidbit), I just couldn't memorize all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

But then, I was almost starting to think of him as a sort of mentor.

I nodded once to him, while Mr. Brunner took one long, sad look at the stele, like he'd been to the girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. Most people would figure it to be global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. There'd been massive snowstorms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. This looked like a hurricane was blowing in.

Honestly I was hoping it wasn't anything demonic, but that seemed too good to be true.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a woman's purse. I snorted and shook my head. She was about as stealthy as Dean is when it comes to pie.

Of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. Honestly, I did it because I couldn't trust many people, and didn't want to deal with the other kids. I think Grover was hoping that if we did that, everybody wouldn't think we were from that school- the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off a bit sometimes. I'm street smart, not book smart."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to make some deep, philosophical, Sam-like comment to make me feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple."

I laughed, and tossed it to him.

I watched the stream of taxis and cars going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about Dean and the Impala, Sam and his college on the other side of the country. I hadn't seen Dean since Christmas, or heard from Sam in weeks. I wanted so badly to cut school and track Dean down, or travel cross-country to see Sammy. But I honestly didn't know where Dean was (probably on a job, knowing him). And I knew what Sam would say. He'd be glad to see me, and so would his girl, but eventually he would want me to come back and try regular school again. He'd always said that online courses weren't the same. And I'd try again, if only because of his puppy-dog eyes and excellent guilt-tripping skills.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy appeared in front of me with her annoying friends- I guess she'd gotten tired of failing to pickpocket the tourists- and dumped her half-eaten sandwich in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. She was just a bully. I couldn't afford to have my psychic powers act up. The school counselor had told me half a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so pissed at her, all of the negative emotions piling up, that I blanked. Blood pounded in my ears.

I don't remember doing it. Honest. But the next thing I knew, Nancy had her but in the fountain, several feet away, and I had the mother of all headaches. Nancy started screeching about how I'd pushed her.

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering. "Did you see-"

"-she just flew back-"

"-and his eyes-"

"-they were glowing-"

Crap. Now I was going to either have to leave, wipe their memories somehow, or be known as a psychic freak. And I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure that poor little Nancy was okay, and promised to get her a new shirt at the gift shop, etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if she'd been waiting for me to screw up all semester. But she seemed to be weighing the risks of doing something before she spoke. "Now, honey-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned and impressed. I was surprised he would cover for me. Even if he did know exactly how serious this was, Mrs. Dodds scared him to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But-"

"You-will-stay-here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's fine, dude," I reassured him. "Seriously. Thanks though."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirked. I gave her a stare I had learned from Dean. It said 'I'm so much better than you right now, but you'll get what you deserve later' in a sort of bored way. She shivered. I bared my teeth at her, getting a yelp, then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds. She wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to hurry.

My blood chilled. That speed wasn't natural.

I went after Mrs. Dodds, reassuring myself by gently fingering my knife that was strapped to my arm under my sleeves.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes nervously between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

"Okay," I muttered sardonically. "Would it be too much to hope for being forced to buy Nancy a new shirt at the gift shop?"

When she passed by the shop, I sighed. "Apparently so."

I followed her deeper into the museum. By the time I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty. I cast my gaze carefully around. No witnesses. Good. If it came down to a fight, I didn't need casualties or any more cops on my tail.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this growling noise, deep in her throat. She was looking at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said casually.

"Oh?" I asked innocently.

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

I sighed through my nose. "I've gotten away with a lot of things. You're going to have to be more specific."

If she was some sort of creature, I was probably in trouble for being a Hunter. If she was a demon, I probably had hunted down one of her friends. I f she was just a creepy teacher, she could have found out about my illegal side job of selling candy out of my dorm.

Or she could have found the mini arsenal I stashed in my room.

Her eyes flashed and I gripped my knife, ready to draw. "We are not fools, Ayden Evans," Mrs. Dodds snarled. "It was only a matter of time before we found out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

"Lady, you're gonna have to be more specific," I snarked. "What exactly am I supposed to be confessing to?"

"Well?" she demanded, ignoring me.

I just stared at her.

"Your time is up," she hissed.

She stepped back and her form shifted. Her eyes began to glow like coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons, and her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings, claws, and a mouth full of fangs… and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

I drew my knife from it's sheath on my arm and held it defensively between us. "What are you?"

Mrs. Dodds ignored me and lunged. I shoved my off hand towards her, palm out and fingers splayed, throwing her off me telekinetically. I held her back for a moment, then let go.

Mrs. Dodds spun towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

"Die, honey!" she snarled, and flew straight at me.

I held still for a split second, then plunged my blade into her chest, all five inches up to the hilt.

I yanked the blade out of her chest with a grunt, the burning pain in my shoulder area telling me she had scored a hit.

Mrs. Dodds stared dazedly at me, before bursting into yellow powder and blowing away in an unseen wind, leaving only the smell of sulfur and the echo of a dying screech, and the chill of evil in the air, as though those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

It was strange, but at least I didn't have to do clean-up.

As I wiped my blade clean and sheathed it, I thought I saw Mr. Brunner out of the corner of my eye, just for a second. But when I turned, he wasn't there, so I dismissed it.

Something wet trickled onto my lip. I touched my fingertips to it and they came away bloody. I reached up and gently wiped my nose with the sleeve of my shirt. Luckily it was black and the blood didn't show. I looked down at where Mrs. Dodds had clawed me, prying my shirt away gently. Nothing too bad, I decided, looking at the three long, but shallow marks.

I made to step forward, and the room tilted. I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples. I'd apparently overused my powers, and it hurt like hell.

Breathing deeply, I managed to ease the pain and nausea enough for me to head outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her posse. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I was confused about who she meant, but I bluffed my way out of it. "Nah," I grinned. "I'm just too good."

Nancy huffed, rolling her eyes and turning away.

I walked over to Grover and sat down. "Hey, man," I said, taking a quick risk, "Where'd Dodds go?"

He hesitated, but turned to me and asked who she was.

But he paused first, and wouldn't look at me, so I thought he knew something, but he wasn't telling.

"Not funny, man," I warned quietly. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I looked over my shoulder, and across the courtyard, Mr. Brunner was watching me steadily. I narrowed my eyes slightly, and he went back to his novel.

I'll be the first one to tell you I'm used to some pretty weird stuff. I mean, hell, I went looking for it. But this mass mind-reset was a bit much, even for me. For the last two weeks of the school year, the whole campus acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr, a perky blond woman I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip, had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

At first, I'd try to spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on someone, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would just stare at me blankly. Whatever this was, it had done one hell of a job.

A few days after the field trip, I finally managed to get a hold of Sam through his e-mail. Apparently the closest thing to the bat-hag he could find was something called the Erinyes. They were spirits of vengeance from the ancient Greek myths.

So I eventually just kept my mouth shut and focused on my finals. Tests always made me snappy, though, and I was worried. Dean hadn't been answering his phone. Not the calls, not the texts. Rationally, I knew he was probably just on a hunt, but he was my big brother. I was entitled to worry.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in history class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

It just didn't make sense. As far as I could tell, there was no real demonic omens, and I honestly had no idea what this was.

I was pretty cranky and irritable for finals week. I knew that my grades were slipping, but I was normally homeschooled and self-taught, so it wasn't all that surprising. I just wasn't used to not having a personalized class course. This was just too strange. I started getting into more arguments with Nancy Bobofit. I got sent to the counselor a lot for "losing my temper". Really, I just knocked her on her back when she tried to punch me in the face.

Finally when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was "too lazy" to study for spelling tests, I snapped.

"Maybe if you were a proper teacher, sir, you would know that I am dyslexic, and might actually understand what that means, you old sot."

They expelled me for that one. I really didn't care.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my little dysfunctional family, just me and Dean and Sammy, living out on the road, taking out the bad guys. I wanted to see Uncle Bobby and Caleb, Pastor Jim, and John-who-was-sometimes-Dad. I missed the ever-present smell of leather and metal and gunpowder. The feeling of safety even when we lived on the edge.

There wasn't much I would miss at Yancy. I'd miss the view of the woods, and Grover, who was a friend even if he was a bit strange. I worried that he'd be bullied next year without me.

I'd miss Latin class, too- Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I would do well.

As exam week was ending, Latin was the class I studied for the most. I knew the language well, but I studied hard for the people and places anyways. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had said, about his subject being life-or-death for me. Regardless, I wanted to leave on good terms with him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started flying off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties like they were on skateboards. There was no way I would be able to tell if they were talking about Chiron or Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. Forget it.

As I paced the room, feeling my powers itch at my skin, like there were ants under my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his old, old eyes. I will only accept the best from you, Ayden Evans.

I took a deep breath and picked up the mythology textbook.

I hadn't asked a teacher for help since before third grade. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers on how to get past my dyslexia. At least I would be able to tell him I studied, and apologize for the grade I was going to score. I didn't want to leave without him thinking I had at least tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window spilling softly into the hallway.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said, "...worried about Ayden, sir."

I froze.

Usually if a friend is talking about you to an adult, nothing good comes out of it. I crept closer. And before you say anything, I dare you to try and walk away when your best friend and favorite teacher are speaking about you. It's impossible.

"...alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more, to be ready."

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline-"

Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can."

"I'm not sure how ignorant he really is, sir," Grover hesitated. "His mannerisms… but the point is that he saw her…"

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that."

"Sir, I… I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Ayden managed himself very well against her. Now all we have to do is worry about keeping him alive until next fall."

"What if he disappears again?" Grover asked.

"It is worrying," Mr. Brunner acknowledged, "but I think it is not one we need to discuss here and now." He sighed. "Go back to the dorm. You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

I backed into one of the empty rooms as I heard Grover say, "Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for a while, then slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam noted like he'd been there all night. "Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I shrugged. "I suppose so."

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just stressed, y'know?"

"Alright," he said, rolling over.

As I got ready for bed, I thought about the conversation I'd overheard. I didn't understand all of it. But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me, and they knew about the Fury. They also thought I was in some kind of danger. I smirked. They've definitely got that one right.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the names I had misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment I'd thought he had found out that I'd eavesdropped on the conversation last night, but that wasn't it.

"Ayden," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's...it's for the best."

His tone was kind, and any other kid would be embarrassed. But he seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I shrugged at my teacher.

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he was searching for the right words to say. "This wasn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

I sighed in agreement, but he seemed to take it as a sign I was upset. "Right."

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh confound it all. What I'm trying to say...you're not normal, Ayden. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

I smiled tiredly at him. "Thank you for being honest, sir. I think I get what you mean."

I did, too. He didn't mean that I was trouble, or that I wasn't good enough. He was genuinely worried I was upset and was trying to comfort me. He was just couldn't find the right words. It felt good, because for once, a teacher left me feeling like I'd made them proud.

He smiled at me then. "Good luck, Ayden."

"And you."

Then I was gone.

On the last day of term, I shoved the few clothes I had into my duffel, taking care to pack my weapons when no-one was around. I double checked the protections Loki had put on my things, one to keep thieves away, another to avoid detection, etc.

The other guys were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a Hunter, from a family of Hunters.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and I told them I'd be hitting the road with my brother.

What I didn't tell them was that we'd be hunting the bad guys of legends, killing, and doing a hell of a lot of illegal things.

"Oh," one of the guys said. "That's cool."

Then they went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I'd really worried about saying goodbye to was Grover, but as it turned out I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle. I was fingering my knife. I didn't know what his issue was, but I hated buses. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected an attack. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about being teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

"So, Grover," I said. "How much do you know?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha- what do you mean?"

"You know that there's more out there, don't you?" I accused quietly. When he went to open his mouth, I continued. "Oh, cut the crap, Grover. I heard you and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam."

His eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough. I knew Mrs. Dodds was real. What's the summer solstice deadline?"

He winced. I got the feeling I'd heard most of it. "Look, Ayden….I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating demon math teachers…"

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and…"

"Grover, you are a really, really, bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"Hey man," I said quietly. "Thanks. And for what it's worth, I already knew about the monsters. I'll be alright."

"Just be sure to call if you need me," he pleaded. "Honestly I'm supposed to protect you."

I looked Grover steadily in the eye. "You have." And it was true. He was one of the only people I could rely on. I was honestly sure I would trust him to watch my back in a fight if it came down to it.

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with the smell of sulfur. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a moment of clanking around the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road- no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway there was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with the afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand. The stuff on sale looked really good, heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I had ever seen. I narrowed my eyes at it suspiciously. This was just too convenient.

I fingered my knife and started to walk towards it, but Grover grabbed my shoulder with a suspiciously strong grip. I looked over and saw the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover, hey man-"

"Don't go over there."

"Grover-"

"Just don't."

"They're looking at me," I said. I looked back at them and the one holding a giant pair of shears beckoned me forwards.

Three old ladies. Knitting, the shears. My breath caught. "I know who they are."

Shrugging off Grover's hand, I jogged across the road, surprisingly empty for the middle of the day. I took a good look at the women when I got there. All of them were ancient, pale faces with wrinkles like the leathered fruits they were selling.

The old woman with the shears and opened them, ornately gold and silver bladed. She made as though to cut the electric blue yarn of the socks.

"Wait!" I called out to her.

She looked up at me, "Do not try to stop me, young one," she warned lowly.

"No," I panted. I came to a stop in front of the stand. In one motion I snagged the shears from her hands and adjusted them over the thread. "Here, right," I checked.

She just stared at me open-mouthed.

"I just thought that, maybe, just once, you wouldn't want the guilt of this death on your hands," I whispered.

She nodded. "There."

I carefully snipped where she pointed, before offering the shears and the thread back to her. Her sisters balled up the socks.

I turned to go, but the one I had spoken to grabbed my left hand. Flipping it over, she quickly pressed two bony fingers to the inside of my wrist. She caught my eyes. "A blessing. Go with thanks, Hero."

I bowed to the three of them. "Lady Fates." Then I turned and jogged back to the bus.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, my powers tingling. Grover didn't look at me or say anything for a few minutes, so I startled when he spoke urgently.

"Did you see them cut a string?"

"No," I said quietly. "I cut it myself."

Grover closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers, similar to crossing himself. I stared as I recognized the ancient gesture- a three-clawed hand placed over the heart, before being shoved outwards. A gesture to ward off evil.

"This is not happening," he muttered desperately. "I didn't want this to be like last time."

I didn't ask what happened then. From Grover's tone it was clearly nothing good.

"Always sixth grade," he mumbled. "They never get past sixth."

"Grover, calm down. Breathe. I'm not going to die on you today." I got up. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

Once there, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Dean's number. This time he picked up.

"Hey, Denny," he said. "I was just about to call."

"Been on a hunt?" I asked.

"Yeah. What's up?"

I hesitated. "How close are you to Manhattan?"

He snorted slightly. "I'm just about to leave. Why?"

"Meet me at the Greyhound station?"

"Okay, kiddo," he agreed. He must have picked something up from my tone, though. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, Dean," I said a bit hoarsely. "Just- I'll explain later, alright."

"Yeah, Denny. I'll see you soon."

End Chapter

Word Count: 7,271

Quote of the Day:

"Today I choose life. Every morning when I wake up I can choose joy, happiness, negativity, pain... To feel the freedom that comes from being able to continue to make mistakes and choices- today I choose to feel life, not to deny my humanity, but to embrace it." ~Kevyn Aucoin