Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. We've been over this.

Rating: T (swearing, adult themes, etc.)

Quote: Brainy Quote

Image: Google Images

Chapter Two

Apollo's Curse

Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.

-George Eliot

~Evelyn~

I splashed cold water on my face.

My body recoiled, but it was well worth it as I gazed into the mirror. Water streaked down my round face in rivulets, colored pitch-black by my mascara. I looked as if I had been sobbing for hours. Turning, I picked up one of the cloth paper towels in the fancy theater bathroom, wiping my face. It came away smudged with evidence of my carefully applied makeup, but I couldn't find the decency to care. I untucked my clutch from the crook of my elbow, taking out a tube of lipstick and mascara. It wasn't a miracle, as I had prayed, but it would have to do for now. In mind's eye, I pictured Melody's face when I came back nearly makeup-free. Pinched lips, hard eyes, clenched hands. Angry, but with too much pride to say so.

I straightened my dress, looking down at it with dismay. All little girls dreamt of being a princess, and, at the ripe age of four, I had thought the same thing. I had enjoyed endless daydreams about my Prince Charming and a thousand ball gowns, but now, wearing a beautiful dress and at an event worthy of royalty, all I could think was that my shoes were pinching my feet. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I was no princess, and I knew it. There wasn't even anything special about my appearance: round face, straight, shoulder-length dark blonde hair with white highlights from the sun, tanned skin with more than a few sunburn rings, and plain brown eyes. Evelyn Aria Cox, plain and simple.

Steeling my resolve, I straightened. I had left to get a breather in the bathroom nearly ten minutes ago, and Melody would start to worry that I had fallen in the toilet and drowned if I didn't show up soon. Gerard- a stout, portly man with a toupee and chubby cheeks that closely resembled a chipmunk- had gotten us excellent seats near the front row. The entire theater was posh and far too fine for anyone to possibly be comfortable. Red velvet seats, a huge, sloping ceiling, three tiers of seats all dressed up like a cake, with their own minibar stocked with the finest wines, Scotches, and whiskey. It was enough to make any person feel on edge, let alone me.

As I walked outside of the first floor's bathroom, my heels clicking on the fine flooring, I spotted the minibar. My eyes trailed it longingly. Though I had never once gotten drunk beyond a glass of wine at one of Melody's parties, I longed to drown the endless boredom of the opera in a haze of thoughts. My lips pulled together tightly. Perhaps I couldn't order alcohol, but I could certainly ask for a glass of water, and my throat was parched. I changed direction from my seat to the minibar.

The minibar wasn't anything special. It was a small, curved structure set into the back of the first floor. Like everything else in the theater, it reeked of snobby classiness and refinement. Absentmindedly, I wondered if my water would be served in a crystal glass cut of diamonds. It wouldn't surprise me. My heels clicked on the wood floor as I reached the minibar, where a tall, gangly, Italian man was cleaning dishes.

"Can I help you, miss?" he said, his voice heavily accented. "We do not serve the alcohol to young people under the age of twenty-one, but there are other refreshments that we can offer you. We have many carbonated sodas, lemonades, ice teas-"

"Just water, please," I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. Though I knew it was rude, I also knew that servers could talk for ages about their different drink varieties. The man sniffed, turning up his head and nodding it nearly imperceptible. Well, then, I thought to myself. Go ahead and be rude, Mr. Snifferson. Isn't one of the rules of business that the customer is always right? I snorted to myself. Apparently not. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I turned around, looking at the right side of the minibar.

The only other person at the curved structure was a boy. He couldn't have been older than seventeen or eighteen at the very most. As a person, I wasn't one to peg people as eye candy, but this boy was undeniably attractive. He had dark brown hair, lightly tanned, coffee skin, and piercing eyes. His hands tugged at his suit sleeves, and some sort of metal gleamed in the rosy lighting- a cuff link, perhaps. Gerard's cuffs were embellished with what looked like genuine gold. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the boy had silver cuff links.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice low. He held up a hand. "I'd like another one of these drinks, if you could-" he motioned to his cup, which held a suspicious-looking amber liquid. Now, how did he manage that? I wondered. Either that boy's older- much older- than he looks, or he's very skilled in the art of fooling people-slash-blackmail.

"I'll be there in a second!" the cranky server said, throwing his hands up and putting them down on the counter with a loud slap. "Just trying to do my job, little boy, and trying to serve the little girl with an attitude over there! I will be there in a moment. Patience is a virtue!" He bustled off, muttering to himself. I blinked. Well, there went good customer service, I supposed.

The boy narrowed his eyes at me. "You know," he said, his voice carrying easily over to where I stood, "I'm not really very sure how I feel about you stealing my serving man. Now I'm nearly out of my drink, and still thirsty. Why did you have to go and ruin this for me? I was having a lovely time before you came along." His words, I noticed, were sharp and clipped, with a little bit of an unidentifiable accent. Caucasian, perhaps? Indian? I pushed the matter aside.

"People aren't there to steal," I said lightly. "Anyway, I'm nearly positive that you can withstand thirty seconds without something to drink. It's not as if you're in the middle of the Sahara; you're at a classy opera. Somehow, I think you'll survive." I leveled my glare at him. Though this boy was incredibly attractive, his personality left something to be desired. I pursed my lips.

The boy's mouth twitched. "What's your name?" he asked. "You're different from all the people at this opera; I can tell." I repressed the urge to smack him in the face. Yes, I was different from all the people at the opera. I felt uncomfortable walking in six-inch hell heels, shocking as that may be.

"None of your business. And, yes, actually. I am different from the people at this opera. If you'd like to continue that train of thought, I can quite easily call security." I tilted my head over to the staircase leading up to the second floor, where two men were standing, hands shoved into their pockets.

The boy laughed. "Oh, yes. I'm sure that they're such an incredible threat to me." For the first time, I noticed that his suit bunched at the sleeves, where there was the unmistakable outline of rigid muscle. I swallowed. He fingered his sleeve, and again, I saw the glint of metal. It seemed to be a bronze color- a surprise, among the ranks of silver, gold, and diamond. My eyes narrowed. Something about that didn't seem quite right, but, then again…

Stop it, Evie, I chastised myself. You're only going to work yourself up. Think happy thoughts. Rainbows. Puffy clouds. Puppies. Don't go all paranoid. I was startled out of my reverie with a sharp clop as the server slammed down my glass of water. "There!" he said, waving his hands. "Take your water, little girl, and leave me be with the cranky boy." He glared at me, sending me the evil eye.

"Hmph" was my only response as I turned on my heel, leaving the suspicious boy and server behind me. I clutched the water glass so hard that I was afraid that it would shatter to bits in my hands. Shooting furtive glances towards the boy at the minibar, who raised his refilled glass in a silent toast, rising color to my cheeks, I finally sat down on a plush seat, my mind working a thousand miles per hour. I wondered who that boy was. Regardless, I felt something amiss in the air. It set me on edge.

"Evelyn, darling," Melody said, her voice deceptively sweet. I swallowed, hard, at the murderous look in her eyes. She wasn't happy, and as the date clearly wasn't going very well- her lips were pressed down in a firm line, a small sign of her annoyance- I would doubtless hear all about it when I got home. "You were gone so long, I had gone to thinking that you were never going to come out."

I smiled weakly. "I decided to stop to get a glass of water. My throat was feeling parched." Melody sent me a warning look. I cleared my throat. "Of course, Mother, and Mr. - uh- what's your surname, sir? I'm sorry." A flush crept up my neck into my cheeks. Fantastic. Good job, Evie.

Gerard chuckled. "You needn't get me anything, Evelyn," he said. "An incident long ago had me sworn off drinking at operas forever." He crossed his arm, and Melody laughed, though her voice was more high-pitched than normal, setting warning bells off in my mind. This night wasn't going to go well; I could already tell.

"Well. Uh, I guess I'm… sorry, then," I said, the apology falling flat on my ears. We had fifteen more minutes before the opera began, and I wasn't particularly looking forward to small talk. That sort of thing had always been more Melody's expertise as opposed to mine. Internally, I set up a countdown clock.

Gerard waved away my pathetic sorry. "Don't worry, dear. It's not the first time I've gotten that sort of response. My experiences can be… strange." He winked at me, and though it might have just been a trick of the light, I thought I saw his tongue slither inside his mouth as he spoke. I gazed down at my water, wondering if the cranky Italian man had put alcohol in it after all. "I, for one, am looking forward to the opera."

Melody fanned herself with her clutch. "Sweet Jesú, it's warm in here," she said, her tone airy. "What is this opera, anyhow, Gerard? You never got around to telling me the title. I do love the opera, but I don't think I even know what this show is." She smiled at him, her teeth glinting in the light.

"Oh, this is one of my favorite stories of all time." Gerard grinned, and I was almost positive that I saw the slither of his tongue. A shiver ran up my back. This man really was repulsive. "It's a Greek play, but it was put into an opera. It's by Sophocles. Do you know it? It's called Oedipus Rex. Wonderful play, that."

My mother froze. The clutch fell into her lap. "W-what did you just say this opera was about?" she asked, her voice soft. "W-who did y-you just say wrote it?" Her face had drained to the color of double-burnt ashes, and a shudder ran up my spine. I had never once in my life seen my mother flustered, much less afraid.

"Why, it's Oedipus Rex, dear," Gerard said. Again, I heard the slithering. "Haven't you heard of an Oedipus complex?" He looked at me, tilting his head. "Though, I should hope that Evelyn here hasn't heard of such a vulgar term. Incredibly distasteful things, Oedipus complexes. Anyhow, it was written by a famous Greek playwright. Sophocles. Have you heard of him?"

Melody sucked in a breath. "Y-you know, Gerard, I just remembered something. She put a hand to her heart and stood up. "Evelyn, we need to go. Now. I've just remembered something, and we need to head home. Immediately." She tossed me a warning look with her eyes as I stood. My mind was reeling. We all knew very well that Melody hadn't forgotten anything, and that she was lying, now, and rambling on. I gazed at her, uncertain. "Evelyn," my mother snapped. "Now."

I nodded, my throat feeling dry. Why was she doing this? Was it something that I did? I wrung my hands together, fidgeting. Whatever the case was, there was a bypass to the opera being handed to me, and I was protesting. I shook my head. Get it under control, Evie. Reap the benefits where you can find them. "Right," I stammered. "Of- of course, Mother. We'll head home immediately. Right."

"Thank you," she said, and it could have just been my imagination, but I thought I saw something like relief pass over her features. "Now, Gerard, I'm terribly sorry, but Evie and I really must be going." My body stilled. Evie. Melody had called me Evie, something that only my classmates and 'friends' called me. I hadn't really ever had any friends- I was acquaintances with many people at my school, but we weren't friends, per say. Melody pushed too hard with my musical devotion for me to have any time on the side. Regardless, Evie was a nickname that only outsiders to my family had ever called me. It made me wonder just what had happened- what Gerard or I had said- to make Melody so on edge and nervous that she called me by my nickname. I shot her a worried look. Nothing good, that was for sure. I wasn't entirely certain of much in this situation, but I was sure that Gerard wasn't looking too happy about these arrangements.

"Now, Mel," he said. My hand itched to slap him. He had barely known my mother for a few hours, and he was already abbreviating her name. By the way that my mother stiffened, I could tell that she, too, noticed, and wasn't too happy about the matter. "There's no need to hurry on. Why don't you just stay a little longer?" This time, I was certain that I heard the slither. I backed away furtively, but his hand shot out and grasped my wrist.

My jaw dropped as I opened my mouth to scathingly snap at him for touching me, but, surprisingly enough, Melody beat me to it. "Do not touch my daughter," she said, though her voice shook and her face was the color of parchment. "Do not lay a single hand on her. Take your hand off of my daughter, or I promise you, Gerard Mormon, that you will not like what I have in store for you." Her blue eyes flashed dangerously, and I felt myself doing a silent cheer for my mother. Who knew that Melody had a backbone?

"But she's so pretty," Gerard whined, almost petulantly. A shudder ran down my spine as I saw him pouting like a little child. "Little daughter of the arts. She likes the sun, this one does." He leered at me. "Pretty, pretty, daughter of the gods, pretty, pretty." He started to cackle, and a tongue darted out of his mouth. I watched in horror as he began to transform. He opened his mouth, and I saw two tongues, like snakes, dart out and slither. Two pointed canines showed at the top row of his teeth, and as I watched before my very eyes, the stout man became taller, thinner, and lost all of his hair together. When he leaned down again, I was nearly quaking in fear at the now nine-foot tall Gerard.

"Hello, Melody and Evelyn Cox," he said, his voice low and tinged with an indiscernible accent. His tongues slithered. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite think you'll be going anywhere right now." He laughed, attracting the attention of everyone in the theater. Then, as he grabbed my waist, lofting me into the air as I squirmed to be released, everything started to happen at once. A woman screamed, and there was the sound of glass being shattered as it crashed onto the floors. With a start, I realized the sound was coming from me.

A blur sped in front of me. I gaped as I saw the boy from the minibar. He was grinning- grinning- with a feverish look in his blue eyes. "Oh, come now, Gerard," he said, laughing with outspread arms. Tall as he was, Gerard only topped him by a few feet. "Let the demigod down. She hasn't done anything to you. I know, I know. You're hungry." He smirked, crossing his arms.

Melody was frozen in her chair, looking up at Gerard, who was holding on to me with an iron grip on my waist with his left hand, and the boy from the minibar, who was crossing his arms and staring up at Gerard defiantly. The opera was nearly empty now, even the security guards gone. I swallowed, wriggling in Gerard's hands. I was close to crying. "Let- me- go!" I screamed, smacking the monster's hands repeatedly.

"I wouldn't do that," the boy said airily. "Mormos can get nasty if you aren't careful, you know." He grinned devilishly at Gerard. "Now, what do you say, Gerry, boy? Let the demigod down, and we can go skip off into sunset with the lovely pianist? Eh? What say you?"

I stared at this boy in shock. He wasn't the least bit fazed by this- this- thing. I couldn't even name it by Gerard anymore. It was a nine foot-tall, bald thing with two forked tongues and pointed vampire teeth, and the boy in the suit was standing there with outspread arms, right in front of the thing in the aisle of a theater, while my mother watched from the seat, a shocked expression frozen on her pretty face. I wriggled, and I realized that the constant screaming wasn't coming from the fast disappearing mob. It was coming from me.

The monster's tongue flicked. "Another little demigod," he hissed. "Ooh- but you smell different." He sniffed the air, tilting his head and tightening his grip on me. I bit his hand, but it seemed to do nothing to the monster. He cackled, then, unexpectedly. "Ooh! Not quite Greek, are we? A little bit of Rome in your blood- I smell it- and a little bit of wildness." He peeled back his teeth at the boy. "An interesting taste, I should imagine."

The boy stiffened. "Oh, Mormo," he said, and though his words were teasing, his tone and body language suggested otherwise. "I wouldn't joke about my heritage, if I were you. I've been told I can be very dangerous." His teeth glinted in the lamplight, and not for the first time, I wondered just who this boy was. I noticed the glint in his cuff as, in one smooth, flawless moment, he brought out a slew of three deadly-looking knives. "All Celestial bronze. Don't play games with me, Mormo."

The monster balked, backing up. It opened its mouth to say something, but as it did so, a sharp crash sounded as something collided with it. It did little to hurt the monster, or do anything but startle it, but it was enough to make him drop me. I fell to the floor, landing on my feet, though I stumbled upon impact. A haze of vertigo overwhelmed me, making me trip. The monster reared around. "Who did that?" he roared, and, for the first time, I noticed that Melody was no longer frozen in the seat. She was behind the monster, a bottle of vodka in her hands- presumably from the minibar. The stench of sickly-sweet alcohol flooded the place, and a few sharps were impaled in the monster's back, though he hardly seemed to notice. I couldn't say that I was surprised. The monster was barely clothed- the fake 'Gerard' had been a different size than the monstrosity that he had morphed into.

Melody once again went rigid, her body stock-still. The monster laughed at her. "Pretty lady who loved a god thinks she's so special," the monster said, nearly clapping its hands together in a childish, terrifying delight. "Where's your god now, pretty lady?" He cackled, and, as if I was watching in slow motion, he picked her up and threw her at the minibar. She flew impossibly long, limp as a rag doll as she collided into the back bar. I heard the sound of bottles crashing to the floor as my mother slid.

A scream ripped through my body. "Mommy!" I paid no attention to the title that I had given Melody. She had hated it when I called her 'Mommy'; she found it an irritating title. She preferred 'Mother', 'Mom', or, in a year, possibly even 'Melody', her first name. I sprinted over to the minibar, slipping and sliding on the spilled vodka. Regardless of my mad dash to get over to Melody, it hardly changed anything. My entire body stilled when I saw the wrecked carnage before me.

Countless bottles of priceless alcohol were on the ground. The smells wafting up from them were overwhelming; they nearly made me collapse to the ground with their scent. Bits and shards of shattered glass was spread all over the curved floor of the minibar, seeping into the cherry wood. The round wood holding bottles of wines had collapsed, coloring the liquids a deep red. The mirror on the back of the minibar had broken upon Melody's impact. And, as for the wrecker of the minibar herself- my heart skipped a beat when I saw her. She was lying on the floor, her dress ripped and torn, her lipstick smeared. Her hair was knotted and tangled all around her, while a pool of blood spilled out from a contusion on her head. Her hands were folded on her stomach. It wasn't her wide, unblinking blue eyes that were beginning to glaze over that scared me, much as the whole sight unnerved me. In fact, there was nothing about the scene that bothered me more than her hands. They were pianist's hands, with long, elegant fingers and finely shaped fingernails. The hands were larger than any man's, matching Melody's broad back. I couldn't help comparing them to my own, plain hands. My knuckles were large from cracking countless times under pressure, and my hands were small. My shoulders were thin.

Tears burned in my eyes as I unfroze, kneeling by my mother. It shouldn't have bothered me, the petty phenomenon with her hands, but it did. It chalked up another thing on the board of things that I never got to share with my mother. With trembling hands, I brought myself to do the thing that I dreaded most. With two fingers, I placed them by my mother's throat. When I was eleven years old, Melody had deemed that I needed to earn money for myself. I had attended a first aid class for beginning babysitters at my school. We practiced CPR, applying bandages, and other skills in the first aid section of the seminar. My most vivid memory, however, was when the teacher- a sunburnt woman with fake blonde hair and pearly white teeth- described the day that we might have to check a child's pulse to see whether or not they were dead or alive. It had scarred me deeply, but in a way, looking into my mother's lifeless eyes was more traumatizing than looking into a little boy or girl's eyes. I pressed my fingers to her throat, hoping, praying for the thrum of a pulse.

Nothing happened. Melody Cox was as still as a wax statue. There were no rise and falls of her chest, or twitches of her body. My mother was dead. I clapped a hand to my mouth, unable to stifle a sob. Though Melody and I had never gotten along well, she was still my mother, and I still a girl. I hugged my arms to my chest, standing up and turning my back. Dimly, I registered that the boy was a whirlwind of movement around the monster that, less than ten minutes ago, had been my mother's date to the opera of Oedipus Rex. There was a ringing in my ears, and I stumbled.

Melody is dead.

My mother is dead.

Dead.

Dead.

I put a hand on the granite countertop for support, sucking in a sharp breath as I remembered to breathe. My chest felt as if it was being squeezed, tightly. I hardly noticed when the boy finally stopped his hurricane of torture for the monster and plunged a knife into its chest. The monster roared, but it soon dissolved into a mist of golden-silvery dust. It danced away on the wind, like miniature snowflakes in a blizzard. I swallowed, hard.

The boy smiled, picking up his knife from where it lay on the floor, now detached from the monster's body. "Well, that was easy," he said loftily, sauntering over to me. When I didn't answer, a crease appeared between his eyebrows. "Ah- are you alright, Evelyn?"

In that moment, I didn't question how he knew my name. I didn't question how he knew what that monster was, or what 'Celestial bronze' was, or why he called me a demigod. I didn't question how he was barely winded after fighting like a superhuman. I just stared at him, my hands trembling.

"My mother is dead."

~Caroline~

I broke off into a run.

There was a general, unsaid rule at Camp Half-Blood. It was long before my time, and as Percy ran next to me, his face unreadable, I knew that Percy, too, understood and accepted the rule. The unspoken rule was this: if someone at Camp Half-Blood screams, then you don't just stand there. You sprint, because, ninety percent of the time; that person was close to death, and they needed your help. I simply complied with this rule. As I got closer to the source of the scream, I saw that other people were running as well. My heart sank as I saw where the shriek had come from. The oracle's cave. Reese.

I felt all the blood drain from my face. My heart hammered in my chest as I stormed through the crowd, pushing aside murmuring bystanders. I thought of my brother, who was detained to retrieve a demigod in New York City. Bile rose in my throat. Please, I thought desperately, sending a silent plea up to Apollo. This isn't fair. It isn't Reese's fault. Punish her mother. Not Reese. Please. I looked up at the sky, praying for something- some sort of sign, anything- but it stayed blue and clear as day. I cursed vehemently under my breath, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

The cave wasn't much. It was set back into a rock formation, a craggy piece of mineral. My heritage being what it was, I never liked being inside that cave, but I had divulged pieces of myself that I had sworn never to speak aloud in my life. I had shared what I could of my life to a dying girl, and though I knew that she was dying, that hadn't stopped me from becoming friends- best friends- with her. I felt tears prick at my eyes. Keep it together, Caroline. You don't know that Reese finally found evidence. You don't know that. You don't. Though I kept repeating the sentiment over and over in my mind, I knew that it wouldn't matter. It lost certainty with each time I prayed. I finally reached the front of the cave, my heart pounding. The velvet curtain was pulled back, and I saw the otherworldly glow of greenish lights inside, as well as the healthy glow of candles. Good. Reese was still alive. She never did like that lighting, and did everything possible to dispel it with ordinary, mortal candles, a sign of her orthodox upbringing.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, marching through the doors. A hand caught my shoulder before I could go, however. I whirled on the person. "What the hell?" I demanded, but the words died on my lips when I saw Percy. Nevertheless, I scowled at him. "You had better have a good reason for stopping me, Percy. One of my best friends is in there." I glared at him.

Percy hesitated. "Maybe you should let Chiron or one of the children of Asclepius handle this one, Carrie. It- it's painful, seeing ones that you know on a deathbed. I know this one firsthand." He averted his eyes, and I saw his jaw working. "Please, Caroline. I'm just trying to help you with this one. I swear."

I gazed at him. Reese had always been a soft spot for Percy. Reese had been the best friend of Percy's daughter, after all. I felt my shoulders slack. "Percy, it's okay. You can go. I- she's one of my best friends. I understand, really. You don't have to be here at the scene." I tried to smile, though the gesture felt weak. Percy seemed to relax, though.

"It's hard." He looked me in the eye. "You're not going to like it, Caroline. I'm trying to look out for you as well as me. I'm not saying that you shouldn't see her; I'm just trying to warn you. These things- they can be pretty painful sometimes." I knew that he was talking firsthand. Percy probably had a long list of every person that he once knew and cared for that was now dead. It seemed cruel, the games that the Fates played. He had outlived so many people that he loved that the hero was in his own version of hell.

"I know." My voice came out primitive, soft. Three years ago, I had pushed away my family. There wasn't a moment in my life that I regretted my choice, but there were lonely moments. I was nearly sixteen years old the day that I turned my back on my family, and that led to some pretty solo moments in my life. It had been my job to take care of my younger brother Will, and make sure that he didn't do anything stupid, and I looked after Reese, to a certain extent, but there was no one left to look after me. I made friends- Scylla, a daughter of Hecate, was probably best among them, but I found myself longing for the summer days when my mother and father would take my family out and have fun. Percy had done his best to look after me. The loss of his own family had made him cold, and bitter, but when you got to know him, he wasn't so bad. He was as close as I had ever gotten to a 'dad'. Not a biological father, but a 'dad'. Percy was trying to look after me, and I appreciated the sentiment. "Thank you."

Percy nodded brusquely, walking off. Despite his feigned nonchalance, his demeanor suggested otherwise. His shoulder blades stuck out in the material of his t-shirt, and his fists were clenched at his sides. In the three years that Reese had been living at the camp, she and Percy had exchanged all of about ten words. They mostly communicated through curt nods. I pursed my lips. Reese wasn't too fond of Percy, either. Though I wasn't clear on all the details, Percy's daughter apparently wasn't too fond of him. As a result, Reese had inherited his daughter's dislike.

I pushed the thoughts away with some difficulty. There hadn't been many interactions between Percy's daughter and myself. When I was younger, I knew his daughter, but she was a toddler. I had talked to his daughter in a coffee shop, early in the morning, three years ago, and that had been the extent of meeting her. From what I had seen, she was a good kid, but my brother had known her better. Shoving the thoughts away with more determination, I attuned my focus to Reese. She was all that mattered now.

My feet walked in front of me, almost as if of my own accord. Percy wasn't lying when he said that seeing someone you cared about lying dead or dying was hard. His whole family had been killed. There were rumors around the camp about the instructor, but they didn't know the half of it. He had been through a lot of difficult situations, and though he tried to rebuild his life, every once in a while, I saw a little piece of his teenage self. From what I heard from a few of the adults that visited- Aunt Hazel, Uncle Frank, or even a few of old campers that visited every once in a while- he had changed completely. There wasn't a whole lot of Percy Jackson left. My lower lip trembled. I didn't want to have the death of my friend change me, though I knew I would. Every experience that a person had shaped and molded them, for better or for worse.

I thought of Reese, my good friend. She wasn't pretty, or smart, but she was brave, and she held a power that no other in the world but her mother possessed. Reese was the oracle. Like me, she had left her mother, a woman by the name of Rachel Elizabeth Winters, when she found out that her mother had consummated with a mortal man, despite the consequences of Apollo's Curse. I hugged my arms to my stomach as I walked. I didn't want Reese to die. She was my good friend.

I stepped inside the cave, and was instantly met with the combined aromas of mildew and scented candles. An oriental rug, a sort of welcome mat, I supposed, was in front. My feet had trod over it more times than I could count, but this time, there was no smiling Reese to accompany me. I heard my friend before I spotted her. She was a garbled mess of tears. Before I left my family, my father, a successful businessman, had told me that every good business woman or man had a poker face. He had told me that it gave the owner special powers: nobody would tell them what to do. A straight face was a sign of respect. Over the years, I had perfected my poker face. In that moment, however, as I was preparing to adorn the expression, I got hold of Reese, who was clutching her right arm.

Ohgodsohgodsohgodsno.

I stepped closer, my thoughts written across my face. Nudging aside sons and daughters of Asclepius, as well as a few descendants of Apollo, I made my way to the front, where Chiron was trying to console a sobbing Reese. My heart sank in my chest. I knew exactly what had happened.

The day that I met Reese was the day that she found out about her curse. My first impression of her was a tall, brave girl with more than her share of freckles, red hair, and ice blue eyes. She hadn't looked like much, but she had stood tall. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her lips were pressed together tightly. Later, I found out that she had been told of Apollo's Curse, and its inflictions upon her. That was the moment where I began respecting her. Reese was brave, and that meant a lot in my book.

"Oh my gods," I said softly, a hand pressed to my stomach. Reese lifted her watering eyes up to meet mine, and Chiron turned to me, stopping his conversation. Reese moved her hand, and I saw what had happened. Her right forearm was bleeding from a long, jagged scratch in the center. My face drained of color. It had been bleeding for a while; the amount of blood spread over the floor, slick as it was, meant that Reese had been bleeding without even feeling it. "You don't feel it, do you?" I felt dizzy.

Reese shook her head as tears spilled down her face. "It's happening," she said, her voice sounding choked. She hugged arms into herself. My eyes burned. "I'm dying." She should have been sobbing with the pain of that jagged scratch, but it wasn't the cut that was bothering her. It was the fact that she could no longer feel her forearm. I looked questioningly up at Chiron, who nodded with a sigh.

He turned away, murmuring something to a few campers. With a heavy sigh, he put a hand on my back as the campers went to tend to Reese. I started to protest, but when I saw the look on Chiron's face, I stopped. He took a deep breath. "It's not fair," I blurted out. At his raised eyebrow, I hurried to explain myself. "It's not. She didn't do anything. It was her mother that did this, not her!" I glared at him. "Apollo should be getting the blame here, not them. Maybe her mom, considering how jacked-up she is."

"Are you familiar with Reese's curse?" Chiron said quietly. His question startled me. The word yes was on the tip of my tongue when I realized that though my best friend had the curse, I didn't really know much about it. I crossed my arms, shaking my head curtly. There had been plenty of time to ask my brother about it- he was the one who had been interested into the gory bits and pieces of myths when we lived with our parents, and he knew all about the curse- but I hadn't particularly felt like investigating the cause of death for my dying friend. Chiron nodded. "I thought as much." He stared at me pensively. "I think it's probably time that you knew why your friend was dying." I nodded, though a tear slipped out of my eye. Chiron sighed. "Do you know where the curse began?"

I nodded, sniffling. Get it together, Caroline. That much, at least, I knew. "It originated in what is now the eastern coast of Turkey. The fabled city of Troy, as shown in Homer's Iliad." I bit my bottom lip, ignoring the metallic taste of blood. "The curse itself actually came to exist in the Trojan War. That's pretty much all I know." I knew the story of the Iliad. Paris, a prince of the kingdom of Troy, fell in love with Queen Helen of Sparta. Helen ran away with Paris back to the kingdom, beginning the bloodiest war that the world had ever known at that point in history.

"Well, you are correct on those standards, then," Chiron said. "As most mythology goes, this gets a bit more complicated. The family of Troy was extensive at the time. King Priam of Troy, as most kings did at that time, frequently bore children. The more heirs, the better. However, the main characters in the Iliad are those that pertain to the story itself. A daughter of the royal family of Troy, a girl by the name of Cassandra, was an oracle, like our Reese. She was also intensely beautiful." He looked pensively out. "The gods are not always right in what they do. Their power sometimes drives them to abuse it. The Trojan War was never begun by Paris abducting Helen from her Greek king husband. It was begun by the Greek king Agamemnon, who was already planning on attacking Troy to add to his extensive empire. The war would not have lasted half as long as it did without the influence of the gods. One of these gods was Apollo. He fell in love with Cassandra, and tried to use her as a concubine for his own purposes. She refused him." My cheeks heated up.

"That's terrible!" I said, my voice edged. "Are you seriously saying that because Cassandra dared to have free will, she was cursed?" It was one thing to think about the lack of rights that women had in past ages, but it was another entirely actually to see it before your eyes. My fists clenched in anger.

"Yes," Chiron said quietly. "It was a bit more complicated than that, however. Apollo decreed that if Cassandra consummated with another being besides himself, she would be cursed. Apollo also punished her by spitting into her mouth while he forcibly kissed her. After that curse, nobody believed her predictions." He seemed angry, too, I realized. The centaur had his lips pressed tightly together. "Cassandra of Troy was raped by Ajax the Lesser in the temple of Athena. She bore a stillborn child. It was enough, however, to receive the curse." Chiron looked away. "There are five parts to the curse. First, the oracle loses the sight. Second, the oracle goes insane. Third, you will not ever be with the man that you love. Fourth, the descendants of the oracle will be infected with a disease somewhere around their sixteenth birthday. The fifth curse is that all oracles will see their children die." I felt the blood draining from my face. "Cassandra was taken as a prostitute by Agamemnon, King of Greece. She bore two children by him: Teledamus and Pelops. Teledamus was murdered at an early age, but Pelops survived. He was examined, and did die of a disease at the age of sixteen and a half. He continued a very brief line that extended about fifty years. The disease was said to most closely mirror an accelerated form of leprosy. It is said to essentially make all of the systems in the body shut down gradually. Your heart pumps slower, your skin begins to rot. It is a gruesome disease." My mouth felt dry.

"I knew Reese's mother," Chiron continued. "She was a good woman. Her name was Rachel Elizabeth Dare, but she accepted to being ordained as the oracle too early. She lost her true love, and it destroyed her, watching him marry another woman." His face was unreadable. "She ran off with a mortal by the name of Claude Lucas. I've been keeping tabs on her since she did so. Rachel didn't believe in the curse, and as a result, she had two children: Reese, and her younger brother, Jamie. Jamie is a prophet, like Pelops, and he will probably be assumed to have cancer. He is not a part of Camp Half-Blood. He mirrors Cassandra's twin, Helenus, in some ways, but is of no use to the camp. He is better served staying where he is." My knuckles were white. "Reese is sixteen years old. Her birthday is June first. As of today, June sixth, she has shown the first signs of contracting the disease. The other healers and I estimate that she will die around Christmastime at the very latest." His eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Caroline."

My mind was whirling. Since I had met Reese when I was fifteen years old, three years ago, I had always known that she was going to die. She had an illness, and an approximate death date. It was something else entirely, however, to see her in this state. Reese Winters was the oracle of Camp Half-Blood. Her mother had lost the sight. I bit my lip. "How are we going to prophesize when-" I couldn't even bring myself to finish the thought. It was far too painful to even think of.

Chiron, however, didn't share the same scruples. "We will mummify her," he said gravely. "The spirit of the oracle- the same spirit that she now carries- will never die, whether it has a living vessel or not. It has happened before. It will happen again." He set his jaw, looking away. Reese had ceased crying. She was sitting on her bed, a sad sixteen year-old. She looked as if she was trying not to burst into tears.

"Isn't there something that we can do?" I demanded. "We can't just let her die because of some thirty-five hundred curse that a pouting Apollo made after he got rejected! This is just so stupid!" I glared at him, raising my chin in outspoken defiance.

Chiron pressed his lips together. In a low voice, he said, "There is a possibility. There is a great secret, but it is not mine to tell." His tone was barely audible. "We will wait until your brother is back from New York City before we discuss anything of this nature. There are powerful forces at work here." He clopped away, leaving me to ponder his words.

My mind reeled. "Wait!" I cried out, hurrying after him to the doorway of the cave. "If there's a way to save Reese, shouldn't we do it?" My voice carried through the clearing; several heads looked up, but as the centaur clopped away, his hooves echoing throughout the camp as the sun set on a fading sky, he was not one of the heads. As I yelled after him, shouting, "Chiron! Chiron!" he paid no attention to me.

There was a way to save my best friend.

I needed to find it.

Now all I needed was to find my damn brother.

A/N: I know, I know. I'm such a liar. In my last chapter, I said that I would be splitting my chapters into four parts. However, about halfway through the chapter, I figured out that was a really stupid idea. There was some cursing, muttering under my breath, and banging my head against the wall until I finally just figured out that I was going to have to change that. When I sat down to write the prologue of Immerse, I laid out a basic problems. There are four- count them four- major dilemmas. Each dilemma has a bit of background information, which makes for a very confusing story. I've decided to split chapters into two, if, for nothing else, to give you all a chance to massage your temples. There will be two POVs for each chapter, not four. I know. I'm such a dirty rotten liar.

Anyway, with that messiness taken care of, my shout out to reviewers time is here! Thanks go to:

JustNicula

JRezaei

3 Unnamed Guests

Audrey (a note to Audrey: yeah. This is pretty confusing. In your next review, if you're still confused, or readers in general are confused, either PM me or say in your review what you want me to explain, and I'll do it in my next author's note or in my reply to your PM).

Thanks! Jeez, my author's notes are long. :/

Let me know what you thought! Please review!