Disclaimer: *sighs* Nope. Don't own Percy Jackson. A truly sad fact of life indeed.

Rating: T (adult content, adult language*)

Quote: Brainy Quote

Image: Google Images

WARNING: This chapter gets a bit heavy. Just a warning.

*language more intense in first part of chapter

Chapter Three

Pinky-Promise

We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers - but never blame yourself. It's never your fault. But it's always your fault, because if you wanted to change you're the one who has got to change.

-Katharine Hepburn

~Emery~

I tugged on my doublet.

It straightened, looking marginally better than it had seconds before. My lips pressed down into a firm line. I wanted no part of the state dinner that I was attending, but Amphitrite had sent me a messenger during lunch, making it mandatory. I didn't particularly feel like challenging my mother's wrath, though I was a bit irked that she wasn't attending herself. As a whole, though I was a prince, I was treated like an outcast. My body was structured like a human's. There was no glittering tail, or even hint of green in my blank, slate-gray eyes. I was a human boy, and, needless to say, the aristocratic families of Atlantis didn't appreciate looking up to a boy prince. They were fine enough with my brother, Triton, or my countless other siblings, but me? They found me purely distasteful.

I stared at the mirror in the large, imposing, sprawling manor house. My mind was still whirling about the previous night's dream among all of my other worries. I couldn't stop picturing the woman in my mind's eye. She had been beautiful; despite the wild look in her eyes and the trembling in her voice that matched one of dwindling sanity. Though her long, golden, billowing hair had been streaked with gray, almost directly matching the color of her eyes, and the sharp angles and planes of her face were almost emaciated, and, of course, the pinprick of her pupil that matched her concentration of creating a summoning spell that had attracted me, she had truly been beautiful. Her arms and legs had been muscled, and if I had to guess, than she would be a seasoned warrior. With some efforts, I pushed the thought away. The woman could be anywhere- anywhere- within the castle, and my mother certainly wasn't evil. It was just a sorceress trying to trick me into rebelling against the good Queen Amphitrite.

The fact that her eyes so closely matched mine was nothing but a coincidence. I had been told before that I very nearly looked as if I were one of Athena's children, with my pale gray eyes and calculating look. Of course, my curly brown hair suggested otherwise, and I was Poseidon and Amphitrite's child, but still. There was so much uncertainty and confusion in my life. I wished that everything just made sense for once in my life.

Sighing, I straightened, wanting to look impeccable. The state dinner had already begun, and I really didn't want to leave the Lord and Lady of the house waiting. They might judge and hate me already, but that was none of my concern. I would show them that, despite my race, I was just as good as them, human or not. Plenty of the servants in their house were gifted humans, descended from some minor nymph or such, and sold into slavery. My hands balled into fists. That, I disagreed with. Slaves were a barbaric practice. We kept only servants in the castle, but many of the rich families went to slave auctions, where captured humans of sea descent were being sold to the highest bidder. They even wore silver cuffs around their wrist emblazoned with the family crest of their buyer, to show that they belonged to that family. The whole practice was savagery, in my opinion, but, then again, no one listened to the human boy prince. In their opinion, he knew nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, walking out of the lavatory. Platters of food were being carried and carted around. The aroma of fish, seaweed, and crispy jellyfish reached my nose, and my mouth watered. I couldn't wait to taste the delicacies. My seat was in the first table, by most of the high-ranking nobility. If I could endure the stares and snickers of the merpeople, than I would get the best food first. My jaw set. I would have those swordfish squares. I was nearly drooling at the very sight of it.

I took my seat, squirming in the chair uncomfortably. The hall was beautiful, I had to admit. Light gray sea stone walls made up the sprawling, fifty-foot dining room, and the table was made of a durable granite for cracking open crabs and lobster. Thankfully, the chairs weren't slaves, as I had seen in some practices, but finely crafted driftwood. The entire hall was lit with a massive, glittering chandelier made of polýtima fóta, or precious lights. They were gleaming crystals that bathed the room in a rosy light. The chatter dulled as I sat down at the table. It's not my fault that I was sent here, I wanted to snap. It was Queen Amphitrite's. I don't want to be here more than you want me here- which is to say, not at all.

A plate of raw crab was sat down in front of me by a small slave boy. The cuffs on his wrists glittered as he sat the plate down. When I looked up at him to thank the boy, the look in his eyes stopped me short. We looked to be about the same age- around thirteen years old. He had sandy blonde hair and green eyes, and was pale and sickly-looking. His eyes glared at me bitterly, making the thanks die on my lips. It struck me how easily our positions could be reversed- just at the snap of a pair of fingers (namely, the Fates, or Morai). He glared at me, and then strode away, his hair raised on his head like a ruffled peacock. My lips pressed firmly down together. I was trying to thank you, stupid boy! I wanted to shout after him. It's not my fault that our positions were reversed! Trust me, I don't want to switch, but if people listened to me, then I would try and set you free!

The Lord of the house- Myron, I thought his name was- set down a glittering goblet full of a strange-looking liquid, enchanted, like all of the other dishes, to keep the food where it was. He grinned at me unpleasantly, a golden tooth glittering in his mouth. He tapped his ring-encrusted fingers against the golden cup. "Hmm," he mused, his voice deep. His tail flickered under the table, and his green skin shone in the light. His long, teal braids flowed freely around him, and his beady green eyes shone. "Are you enjoying the party, Your Highness?" The title was one of respect, and yet the way that he said it made it seem like a jeer.

"I was," I replied smoothly. "Now I am having to take the droll task of reminding Lords to keep their place where it belongs. I would be careful with your words, good sir. They are far more dangerous in the word of politics than a sharply aimed barb." I raised an eyebrow inquisitively, noticing the deep shade of purple the lord's face was turning. Somehow, I didn't think it had anything to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

His wife- Lady Helena- tittered nervously beside him. "What a funny sense of humor you have, Your Highness," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I, too, have found that to be quite true. Wouldn't you agree, darling?" Her words were cut sharply at the end as she turned to her husband. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Lord Myron might've made sure that he had all of the power, strictly speaking, but his wife still kept him in line and dealt with all of the technicalities. It was a way of life in Atlantis that hadn't changed, even over years and years.

Lord Myron nodded gruffly. "Your words are indeed true, Your Highness," he said, his eyes glittering with unsuppressed anger. "I think we would all do to take care to remember them." His words were sharp and pointed directly at me. I bristled. If my mother heard what Lord Myron was doing, with his clever word twisting, he would be in a grave amount of danger. I was right about to tell him so when I thought better of it, changing tactics.

"A good man," I said jauntily, taking great pleasure in the flicker of surprise that darted about the lords' and ladies' faces of the table. "Now, why don't we move the topic to something more cheerful, eh? I hear the fishing's been better than the last couple of years. I don't know about you all, but I find great pleasure in settling down to eat- and eating as much as I like." The lords and ladies relaxed, a few genuine chuckles running through the table.

My mind was whirling, and my heart thrummed in my chest. Politics was a dangerous game, especially for a scorned prince of Atlantis. It was all about weaving your words deftly, making veiled threats, gentle reminders, and changing subjects to one that hefty nobles could always agree on: food and drink. As the conversation resumed, the lords and ladies eventually forgetting all about me, platters were set down in front of me. I was just beginning to think that I might make it through the night when it happened.

"So, Your Highness," Lady Helena said, bringing the conversation to include me. Startled faces around the table matched my own. Why was I being brought back into the conversation? I was supposed to be the watcher on the sideline. I would stay silent, jibe a few well-timed remarks, and then go back to the palace, reporting to my mother that the night had gone 'well'. I squirmed uncomfortably as Lady Helena popped a piece of rolled-up seaweed into her mouth. "What do you like to take part in during your free time?"

I mustered a brave smile. I could tell them all the truth, of course. During my free time- which was often- I liked to prowl the shelves of the library, flicking through manuscripts. I was hungry for knowledge, and I was willing to bet I could meet any scholar in the city for a debate. There was, of course, the other option. I was prone to trouble, and sometimes I turned it towards pranks. There had been many a time where I hid in the kitchens, slipping a squid into a maid's dress when they weren't looking. They squiggled and screamed, making for an entertaining spectacle. Or, of course, there was the time that I fed the hippocampi rotten fish on purpose, making them hurl all over the jockeys during a race. I almost snickered, right then and there at the table. Instead, I raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh, nothing much. I sometimes like to help in the poor sector of the city. This and that." I was unable to suppress a childish grin, and a few of the ladies smiled knowingly.

"Ah," Lady Helena said with a wink. "Well, then. Myron here- he was always up to no good in his days, weren't you, My?" Myron grunted. Lady Helena clapped delightedly. "See? He's practically bursting at the seams with a bundle of energy. Though, of course, he's a bit dimmed down now. We wouldn't want to blast you all with his energy." She smiled, completely unaware of her lackluster husband. A few awkward chuckles passed through the table.

Lord Myron grinned. "Ah, yes," he said, stretching backwards. He leaned back in his chair ridiculously far, his arms completely knocking into a slave girl. She stumbled, tripping as his arms collided with her, going towards Myron. I watched the whole thing as if in slow-motion. Oh, no, I thought. Oh, shit. Girl, run away. Get your balance. Unfortunately, she didn't. The goblet that she was carrying- a golden thing full of a dark, mauve substance- sloshed all over Lord Myron, practically drenching him. The rest of the girl's dishes clattered to the floor.

The entire room went silent. The girl's sea-green eyes were wide. She collapsed to the floor, trying to pick it up. Her blonde, curly hair billowed around her as she worked to clean up the mess. Lord Myron's face deepened to an unhealthy shade. He flung back its chair, and it floated away a few feet before collapsing to the floor. The poor girl- a slave, I noticed, with the shimmering silver cuffs on her hands- was on the floor, desperately trying to fix her mess. Lord Myron's face purpled with rage. "How dare you!" he shouted, kicking her in the side. The girl cried out. I turned my face away. She clutched her ribcage. The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen at the very oldest; she looked pale and starved with malnutrition. "You insolent little bitch!" His face reddened. He spotted the slave boy who had handed me the plate of raw crab across the room. "You there!" he barked, marching forward. The slave boy's eyes widened. "Yes, you! Get me my damn whip! Apparently, this dirty, filthy little slave needs to learn her lesson!" He kicked her sharply in the side. The girl whimpered, trying to get up. She stood, shaky and pale, clutching her ribs.

I got a good look at her for the first time as the slave boy scampered off. She was beautiful, and a few years older than me. Her bright green luminous eyes glared at her master, and her blonde, curly hair had come undone of its careful bun. She glowered at the man, standing up straight. It wasn't her fault that the glass had spilled on Myron, though she probably could have controlled her clumsiness better. I looked away. This was a spectacle that wasn't going to be pretty, I could already tell.

"It was an accident, sir," she said, her voice barely controlled. I winced. No, don't talk, I tried to telepath her. It's a mistake. He'll only hurt you worse for every word you say! Foolishly, she continued. "I apologize for my clumsiness." Her chin tilted up. I cringed, awaiting the next step. There was no degree of surprise for my ears at the sharp crack of the slap that came at her face.

Lord Myron was furious. "How dare you talk to me like that? How. Dare. You. You filthy, insolent, little-" he trailed off as the servant boy returned with the whip. "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice full of cruel rage. Every being in the dining room shivered with anticipation. The servant boy handed him the whip, trembling slightly. I stared at the cord. It was made of silver, and glittered cruelly in the light. The handle was made of sea serpent skin, and it was well-used.

I gritted my teeth together. Don't open your mouth, Emery. This isn't going to go well. Just shut up, and watch it happen. Dig your fingernails into your arm. Something. You can't intervene. If you do, you'll be even more of an outsider than you already are. Just imagine the taunts. Emery, the human boy prince, friends with the dirty little slave. Heart the taunts, Emery.

The girl paled at the sight of the cruel whip. Fast as lightning, Myron brought it down upon her, cracking it against her waist. The girl screamed, a high, bloody murder, strident, shrill scream that send shudders down my back. I closed my eyes. Myron grinned. "Enjoying this, girlie? Regretting opening your mouth? This will teach you to keep your place!" he roared, slamming the whip down onto her back yet again. The girl let out another scream, sobbing.

My hands were clenched on the edge of the table. I didn't want to watch this. In fact, I wasn't entirely sure if I could watch this. I didn't want to stand there, watching this girl get beaten half to death. I bit down on my tongue, hard. Stop screaming, I tried to tell the girl. The more you scream, the longer he'll whip you. It's all a game to him. Just breathe, girl. Just breathe. I knew I was a hypocrite, but I had seen enough of these brutal whippings to know how the slave masters worked. They were all the same, just dirty and rotting and filthy. My nostrils flared. Half of it was Myron's fault. He was bare-chested, anyway, like most of the merpeople nobility. My stomach turned as I looked down at my plate. So much for enjoying the delicacies.

The third time he whipped her, the girl shouted. I knew that it was going to get bad the moment that she opened her mouth. "Stop it! Stop it! It's not my fault!" she bawled, tears streaming down her face. "Please! Stop it!" Blood was seeping the fabric of her plain black dress. I looked away. Dammit, girl. Stop talking. It's only going to make it worse. Please, I thought desperately.

"You don't address me!" Myron bellowed, his voice dangerous. "You don't address anyone but filthy people of your kind! You aren't even supposed to look at me, you hear? You filthy, untrained little bitch!" He slammed down the whip on her, harder than I had ever seen anyone do it. The crack echoed through the hallways, and I felt anger consume me. She screamed, crying out in pure terror and pain, and I was fairly certain that people in the palace heard her shrill cry of anguish.

I stood up, pushing my chair back. Before I knew what I was doing, the words were out of my mouth. "That is enough!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the table. For a moment, the only sound in the hall was the sound of the girl sobbing. "I think, Lord Myron," I said, my voice cutting, "that the girl has beyond learned her lesson." I glared at him sharply. "This is abuse. I am fairly certain that, were my father here tonight, he would not approve in the slightest." I wasn't about to stop now. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and my vision was obscured with a red haze of anger. "I command that you stop, right this very instant!" I pounded my fist down on the table for effect.

There was the collective intake of gasps from the various ladies in the dining room. A few of the lords' jaws dropped. Others blanched, and a few stood stock-still. It was a dangerous thing that I had just done, but I wasn't about to sit there, watching this girl get beaten for something that wasn't their fault. I set my jaw. "That's right," I said, leveling my gaze with every member of the state dinner. "You heard what I said. This is barbaric. Stop it. Now." I clenched my hands into fists, glaring at the aristocrats.

The girl had stopped sobbing loudly. Silent tears streaked down her face, but her expression was one of shock. I nodded to her, curtly, and she narrowed her eyes at me. It felt odd, being the savior for a girl so much older than I was, but it felt right. I wasn't about to let anyone get beaten to death on a pale gray floor of sea stone.

"Your Highness," Myron said, his eyes slitting dangerously. "This girl is untrained, and clearly very stupid. If you'll excuse me, I must get back to teaching her a lesson. She has not been taught half as long as she should have been. Did you not see how she sloshed the cup all over me?" He really was repulsive, I thought. Rolls of fat sloshed off of his green skin, and his beady eyes glittered at me like one of the small, limp minnows that I sometimes found.

"If you remember correctly, Lord Myron, I would believe that you were the one who brought about the cup on your own skin. If you did not stretch back your arms so unnecessarily long, you would not have collided with the girl, and she would not have tripped." I glared at him. "Or am I remembering something off-kilter?" I turned back to the audience, who averted their eyes.

Lord Myron's jaw unhinged. "You are making a very grave mistake, Your Highness," he said, his face furious. "You will live to regret this day. This girl is little more than a wench. She doesn't deserve anything more."

"Maybe so," I said, my voice even. An idea occurred to me, like a spark flaring up in the embers of a dead fire. "Maybe not. Tell me, Lord Myron, how much, exactly did you pay for this slave girl? When you went to the market- or was it even you? Did you choose one of your other slaves to go and bid for her? Did they take her home, bound up like a fish, ready to be skewered? This girl might have a history. She might have a family, who love and miss her. Yet, here she is, sold into slavery." My eyes glinted. "How much did your slave pay for her? Seventy drachmas? Eighty?"

Myron spluttered. "That is highly classified information!" he stammered. He growled, noticing most of the members of the audience watching him raptly. His face reddened. "I will relinquish no such information to you, Your Highness." His face was an unsettling shade that I was almost positive wasn't good for his health now. I smiled. He was trapped in my web.

"If you refuse to relinquish such claims to me, then I shall inform my mother, the Queen Amphitrite, or even my father, King Poseidon," I said, though I was bluffing. I had never met my father in my life, and I was certain that Amphitrite would do nothing. My bluff worked, however, because Myron blanched. The slave girl's eyes widened, and her eyes cleared of their bleariness. Though her mouth was bloodied, she sat up, struggling to do so. Her expression was one of franticness.

Lord Myron looked around nervously. "That's blackmail, Your Highness. Surely you are above such low scruples?" He seemed to be digging for pity from the audience, but he found none. My pity, too, was very low. I was disgusted by this man. This would be his punishment for whipping the girl. I showed no pity to him.

"A common misconception," I said smoothly. My hands tightened as I leaned forward on my chair, gripping it with white knuckles. "Now tell me how much you paid for her, or I will make sure that you pay dearly for refusing a command of the royal family of Atlantis." I leaned back, smug. I was going to make sure that Myron paid.

Myron gritted his teeth. "Seventy-five drachmas," he said, his face furious. "I paid seventy-five drachmas for the girl. Worst purchase I ever made." He sneered at the girl, kicking her sharply in the side. She cried out, slapping to the floor again. Her face was scratched up from impact upon the floor.

"I said enough!" I shouted, stalking over to him. In one, fluid moment, I unhinged a leather pouch from my side. I threw it at Myron, who barely caught it with a bewildered expression on his face. The jangling of coins brought him to his senses, however. "That's one hundred sixty drachmas in there," I said, glowering at him. "I just bought your slave girl from you."

He furrowed his eyebrows at me. "What did you just say?" he asked, very clearly confused. His eyes seemed to narrow even further as he looked at me. For a moment, I wondered what the hell I was doing, a thirteen year-old boy questioning a well-known aristocrat of Atlantis. I went on.

Snapping my fingers, my guard entourage of seven appeared by my side. "I said," I told him, "that the girl is mine now. I just bought her from you. That was more than double. You said you regretted your purchase? Well, you don't have to anymore." I turned to the rest of the audience. "As for the rest of you? I find you all disgusting." The lords' and ladies' faces blanched. "You sit here, not saying a word while an innocent girl is whipped, perhaps to death. You all could have been bystanders in a murder tonight! The sick part is, you don't even think of it as murder, do you? You're all so bloody concerned with whether or not your makeup on your faces is applied correctly! You don't think of these half-humans around here as beings. I'm a full human, and let me tell you: every single one of you is absolutely disgusting." My jaw set. "As for the slaves and servants in this room?" Each one of them turned their heads to me, startled. Black and white lacy uniforms turned towards me. "I'm sorry," I said honestly. "I really, really, am. Truly." They looked flabbergasted.

I whirled on my guards, who looked shocked. I almost never spoke exactly what I was thinking, but I was tired of sitting through racist state dinners. "Get the girl," I ordered. "Handle her gently. I want her alive when we get back to the palace, until we can get her some healing." I looked back at her, and she seemed to almost be afraid of me, though that wasn't much of a surprise. Something silver glinted at her neck, and I wondered if it was another piece of slave jewelry. I was thrown from my reverie, however, by a voice.

Lady Helena was the first to respond. "You're leaving?" she asked, her face pale.

"I am indeed," I said. "And I hope you are all properly ashamed."

With that, I turned on my heel, storming out of the dining room in a cold fury.

~Janice~

My feet splashed into a puddle.

The bus drove away for the last time in my sixth-grade life. I watched it drive away, exhaust sputtering from the pipe. Rain drizzled down in irregular drips, pattering on the sidewalk. I stood there, on the sidewalk, not bothering with an umbrella. My brother used to tell me that you should always hold your head up high in the rain. It wasn't poisonous, and you shouldn't show weakness by bowing your head, succumbing to something as petty as rain. I leveled my gaze with the bus as it drove away. My younger, eight year-old brother Reid chattered endlessly about something that happened in his classes. I tuned him out, feeling a pang. Closing my eyes, I remembered a day, long forgotten.

I wasn't listening to my soccer coach. Instead, I was digging my four year-old sized soccer cleat into the mushy grass, wondering why on earth we had to play a soccer game in the rain. The coach was yelling at us- we were losing, and even for four year olds, he never liked to lose. I felt my family's judging eyes on my back. Dad had actually come to this soccer game, but it was raining, and I kept on getting rained on. I was afraid that the rain would get into my eyes. My soccer coach loudened his rant, and I ducked down, embarrassed. He was shouting at me, I just knew it.

"Excuse me?" I blinked up owlishly. The soccer coach stopped bellowing at the crowd of drenched four year-olds, looking at the boy standing there. He was nine years old, and was soaked to the bone, but I would know him anywhere. It was Will, my older brother. I bit my lip. He was probably disappointed in me, too.

"What?" the coach snapped. "Look, kid, I'm trying to coach a soccer team here, and I really don't need the distractions of the likes of you." He spat in the grass. I had never liked that coach. He was a mean, grizzled man in his forties with gray stubble peppered on his chin, and he was glaring at my brother.

Will stared right into his eyes, unflinching. "I need to borrow my younger sister, Janie. I'll only be a minute. Please, sir. I need to give my sister her medicine. If she doesn't get it, she'll be very sick." I furrowed my eyebrows. I didn't have any medicine. What was Will doing?

The coach growled. "Very well. Just make it quick. I'm trying not to get decimated here." He waved his hand at Will. I stood up from the grass, spattered with mud, ducking my head down. I very nearly ran towards my brother, feeling tears spurt up. I didn't want to be yelled at, and I could imagine my parents' disappointed faces when we got home. My dad didn't usually come to any of my extracurricular activities, and I didn't want to make him sad, but that was exactly what I was doing.

My brother found my hand, squeezing it within his own. It was our little signal- whenever I was nervous, my brother would grasp my hand tightly, telling me silently that everything was going to be okay. Will led me over to a secluded patch of the soccer field. He knelt by me, his bright blue eyes piercing. I had started to cry, and with his thumb, he wiped away the tears. "It's going to be okay, Janie," he said, giving me a hug. I clung to him, a scared four year-old. My parents would never do this- they were more concerned about whether or not I won. He pulled back, looking me in the eyes.

I sniffled. "Is Daddy upset?" I asked, my voice wobbling. When Will didn't answer, I hugged my arms to myself. "I'm sorry," I said, a few tears dripping down my cheeks. "I don't mean to lose. I'm so, so, so sorry. Really, really sorry." A couple of tears streamed down my face.

"Oh, Janes," my brother said, pulling me in for a hug. "It's okay. I'll make sure that Mom and Dad aren't mad. They have no reason to be. You're doing the very best you can." He closed his eyes, pushing me away. "Listen to me. You're doing great. You're practically the best one on the team!"

My eyes widened. "Really? Mommy says that I need to work on my kick and dribble if I ever want to be good, though. She says that I'll never be good if I don't try more. She says that I need to work hard if I ever want to be good."

Will scowled. "Yeah, well, Mom doesn't know everything, now does she?" He wiped away a few of my tears. "See, the thing is, Janie, you don't have to be afraid of the rain." He smiled a little bit. "You listen to me. If you get out there, and you hold your head high, not caring what a little bit of warm rain is, Mom and Dad won't say a word. I promise you. We'll all be so proud of you." He smiled, his white teeth glinting in the cloudy day. "I swear. You're already doing great. Now get out there and show that gosh darn rain who's boss, yeah?"

I smiled. "Really? Am I really making you proud?" My heart soared at the prospect. My mother and father had never told me anything of the sort. I looked at Will, my eyes full of hope. Will grinned.

"You betcha, Rainy Janie," he said, poking me in the nose. His rhyming was cheesy, but it made me laugh a little. He patted me on the back. "Get out on that field, okay? Tell that rain that it doesn't bother you, and Mom, Dad, Carrie and I will be so proud of you."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Pinkie-promise?" I asked hopefully, holding out my tiny, chubby, four year-old hand with the pinkie thrust up. I bit my lip, wondering if my older brother really would promise on such terms.

He smiled. "Pinky-promise," he said, grasping my pinkie with his own, noticeably bigger pinkie. "Now get out there, and tear up that field. Tell that rain that it doesn't bother you a bit." He pushed me away, and I squealed, hugging him and dashing off to my coach.

I arrived just in time to go back on the field. My last look before the ending half of the game began was the look of proudness on Will's face, his hands shoved into his soaking wet jeans. His head was held high, and he shook his head, water droplets flying off like on the fur of a dog.

That entire game, I kept my head held up high.

I blinked away tears. I was back in the present, with rain streaming down all around me, but it wasn't the same rain as that fateful September day. It was June rain, and the brother alongside me was a different one, chattering on about how they had cleaned their desks with shaving cream, and there had been a shaving cream fight. My heart panged. Will, I thought, choking out a short sob. My brother had always been there for me, through thick and thin, until three years ago, when he left me behind in the dust.

I walked home, trudging through puddles, holding my head high. Reid chattered alongside me, holding up his book, and saying how he smelled like aftershave, like Dad. My thoughts were elsewhere, however. Hugging my arms to my chest, I closed my eyes, wishing that I was still a small four year-old girl, afraid that her parents were going to be ashamed of her. It was one of my earliest memories, and I had dozens like them, where Will comforted me. Since Will had left three years ago, I had relived them so many times that I had lost track. One time, I had been afraid to go on a rollercoaster at the amusement theme park, and my mother had scorned me, telling me that I needed to be brave if I ever wanted to get anywhere. Will had held my hand, and though he preferred not to go on 'Pink Berry Scone Blitz', a six year-old, little kid ride, he had ignored the laughs that came his way when he rode the rollercoaster with me, squeezing my hand. Another time, I had been seven. My father was going to take me to paintball, but at the last minute, he pulled out, saying that he had to work. Though Will had plans with a friend that day, he had stayed home, claiming he felt sick. He had played video games with me the entire day, challenging me to multiple rounds of Mario Kart. The memories seemed to taunt me. Will had really been the one to take care of me as a kid, and now that he was gone, I felt his loss keenly every single day of my life.

"Janie?" I looked up to see Reid furrowing his eyebrows at me. "Uh- you passed the house." He gestured to our driveway three houses back. I growled, nodding and turning on my heel, storming down the long, black asphalt driveway.

"I noticed," I called behind me. When I threw a furtive glance over my shoulder, I was almost positive that I saw Reid shake his head and mutter under his breath. My face darkened. For an eight year-old boy, he was far too much like the rest of my family, including me: far too sharp-witted for their own good. My mom and dad had told me plenty of times before, and it wasn't a quote that I was about to forget now.

When I finally reached my house, I craned up my neck. I had lived in this house longer than any other house in my life: a whole three years in Quincy, Massachusetts. When I was younger, we used to move about once per year, but after the Valdez family moved to Quincy to help my mom out with the new baby, and Caroline and Will went to Camp Half-Blood to be fostered there, we had put a stop to the moving. Bad things happened when one moved, we had found out. It gave the Fates far too much freedom. Now, I gazed at my house. Will had told me that it reminded him of the house in Gone with the Wind: It was large and white, and a bit musty, with plenty of windows. There were a few nooks and crannies in our house, and plenty of places to play a good game of hide-and-seek. Reid had taken good advantage of this his entire life.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up the curving stone pathway to my looming house. I knocked on the front door, the sound seeming to echo for miles upon end. I still pictured Will's face in my mind: his coffee skin that we both shared, his bright, intensely blue eyes, his white-toothed grin. It was enough to make me want to cry, but I forced it away. All day, since this morning, when the sparks first began to fall from my fingertips and Jenny mentioned Will, I had been on the verge of tears. When Will left us, he had blown a hole in the porch of the Big House. He never could control his temper, but that tantrum had been by far the worst of them all.

The door opened, and with it, Jenny, in her gray-haired, lined, smiling face, pencil skirt, Oxford blouse, and Dr. Scholl shoes. She took one look at my sad face and pulled me in for a hug, smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg. "Bad day at school?" she said, her voice soft and kind. I managed a smile.

"Yeah," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. "Hey- if you have any time, could I talk to you for a second?" My eyes were searching, but if there was one thing that I had learned, it was that carrying a secret alone was always hard. I needed to talk to someone about Will, because I had more than a few suspicions that I really didn't care to share. This 'Lynnie' girl was starting to sound scarily familiar to me, because if she was who I thought she was, than she was the girl who broke my family apart.

Jenny hesitated. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked, her voice guarded. Something in her expression told me exactly what I needed to know, and I didn't quite like the answer that I was getting at this point. My hands clenched at my sides, my knuckles white. I took a deep breath, asking the question that I really, really didn't want to ask.

"This… girl that you watched. Lynnie. You never told me her last name. What was it?" I said, pursing my lips. Please, I prayed to all of the gods above, don't let it be who I think it is. I really, really, really just want to live in peace for a little while. I don't want these sorts of things plaguing my mind. I have enough to worry about as it is.

Jenny blanched, but was saved by the bell. Reid came dashing in, his eight year-old face alight with excitement. "Jenny," he said, slightly breathless. "You will never believe what happened in my class today! We were in Mrs. Sherman's class, cleaning the desks with shaving cream, and then all of a sudden, Elaine Bresden starts getting angry, and she squirts some shaving cream onto her sister…" Jenny threw me an apologetic glance, but I knew that the question would be answered sooner or later. The Fates were far too cruel just to give us a normal nanny, after all, and though I loved Jenny to death- she was the caring replacement that would never quite fill the gap in my heart for Will- I wasn't sure how much twists and turns I was going to be able to take. I didn't want to believe that Jenny had been the nanny of the girl that I was beginning to picture in my head- a girl with blonde, curly hair, sloping cheekbones, a petite figure, tanned skin, and bright, luminous green eyes- but, as I bit my lip, I knew that I was right.

I pushed the matter aside. Right or not, it wouldn't do me any good to form conspiracy theories. I turned away from Jenny and Reid, walking away from the beautiful, extravagant foyer, stomping up the stairs. I was only a normal eleven year-old demigod legacy, after all. We tended to have our mood swings. At that moment, however, I knew exactly where I was going. When I reached the top of the stairs, I took off my backpack and flung it to the ground. My house was huge, and there was plenty of room for me to explore. While Reid had been playing hide-and-seek, I had been exploring.

My feet knew exactly where to go. They padded on the wooden floor, and I shoved off my Nikes with my toes, and then my socks. I didn't care that I was leaving a mess for Jenny to clean up. If she wanted to keep secrets, then that was fine, but I needed a bit of peace. Turning and twisting through the labyrinthine, small hallways of the upstairs, I came upon a musty, curved staircase. Around me, everything was made of dark mahogany, and there was a thick layer of dust on everything, except for a trail of footprints. Not even Jenny cleaned up here- she had come to the understanding that this was my place. I climbed the steep, curving staircase, keeping my hand firmly on the railing. If I so much as slipped, than I would toppling to a crippling injury, and I was in no hurry to earn one of those. Finally, I arrived in a small room, with another staircase in the corner. Hauling myself up the dangerously steep steps, I arrived in the only room in the house that was truly mine.

This wasn't my room, of course. My room had to be accessible for Jenny. This room, however, was my secret place. It had one, circular window that lit up the whole room, and though it was basically just a dark, musty crawlspace, it was mine. The entire place smelled of cedar wood. I had found this place the day after Will and Caroline went away. There were times when a person just needed to walk, and, fortunately, my enormous house was perfect for such things. This room, however, wasn't much.

When I had found it, there had been trunks and trunks of old keepsakes that the previous owners of the house had left behind. The walls of my room were covered in posters from the 50s to the 80s. Gorgeous models in red polka-dot bikinis lounged on the beach, advertising this and that, there were more Beatles posters than I could count, and there was even a poster with Elvis's face on it. There was hardly a crack of real wall showing- even the ceiling was covered with posters. The floor, of course, was just dusty cedar wood. As for what the place held in it- that was the truly amazing part. When I had first found the place, there had been racks of clothing from all eras. I had found a few out-of-date prom dresses, a couple of tuxedos, hippie outfits- there were things of all assortments. There was also a dusty table that the previous owners left here, with a rickety old sewing machine. Though I had to have my 'Uncle' Leo fix up the vintage sewing machine, I soon had it in working order. I bought a bunch of sewing tools, and, every Halloween or costume party, I brought out a costume and tailored it to fit me. The blood of Aphrodite that ran in my veins had made me a natural seamstress, and I took full advantage of the fact.

An old record player sat on the other side of the room, near the trunks. There were more boxes than I could count. They ranged from the Jack Sparrow sort of pirate treasure trunks to hat and dress boxes from decades ago. When I opened the boxes, some were empty, and some were full of keepsakes of the previous owners. I had found the posters in there, as well as a few pictures. The empty boxes, though, I filled up with my own keepsakes. Mostly, they were pictures of Will and me, or a few journals that I kept when I was younger. I tucked everything away in here, and every once in a while, I would write in my journal, or sew a fancy new dress and take care to hang it up. For my birthday, Jenny had gotten me an oriental rug for my crawlspace, as well as some windowpanes. My cousin Theo Valdez had even made me an antique wooden chair for Christmas one year, and it sat behind my sewing desk. The whole place was mine, and I loved it.

Now, I walked over to one of the hat boxes. My feet padded quietly on the dusty wooden floor, and I picked up the striped blue pentagon-shaped box. With a feeling of reverence, I lifted up the top to the box. It fell to the floor with a clop, the plastic hardly making a sound. I sat down on the Oriental rug, and my hands slowly set to work unwrapping the picture frame inside the box from tissue paper. When I looked at the photo frame, my heart nearly stopped in my chest.

It was a picture of Will and me. We had been on a family vacation in Paris, and we were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, grinning like loons. Though Paris wasn't what I thought it would be- it was far dirtier, and smelled terrible, and I even saw a hobo by the Eiffel Tower- it had been worth it with Will. He had challenged me to go up the Eiffel Tower with him, though I was scared to death of heights. Of course, I wasn't after that day, but Will had pushed me, telling me not to be afraid- he would simply fly down and catch me if I fell. The thing was, I believed him wholeheartedly. Given our lineage, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he did fly.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I fell down on the Oriental rug. There were little things that I had to wish for in my life. All of my necessities were taken care of to the point where I ran out of things to ask for Christmas. If I had to wish upon a star, however, I knew what I would wish for. I would wish for my little brother back.

I thought back to that rainy day in September, when Will had grinned and given me a pinky promise. Letting out a sob, I curled up into a small ball, letting it all out. "Pinky-promise," he had said, and I had made the foolish mistake that thinking it meant more than it actually did.

Promises were funny things. They were the uttering of unspoken words, not a loud covenant. It was the things that you depended on that disappeared the fast. The only promises that were truly ever broken were the unsaid ones: the fact that my brother would stay by my side for as long as I, as a little sister, needed him. Three years ago, he had packed up and left, leaving me in the dust to cry over him.

Every day, I woke up, tilting my chin up in defiance. Today, I would say, is the day that I forget about Will, and stop letting him bother me. The fact of the matter was, though, that my parents were never there for me. They never cared to look my way, and, sad as it was, that was the truth. My sister Caroline had her own problems, and Reid was just a baby. Will had taken care of me, holding me tight in his arms when I got scared, or was afraid that my parents would be disappointed in me. I could only imagine what Will would say if he saw me now.

I missed my big brother like hell. Every day of my life, I felt his loss keenly. As a whole, my life was pretty complete. My necessities were so taken care of to the point that I ran out of things to ask for Christmas and my birthday. If a shooting star streaked past my window, however, I had no delusions. I knew exactly for what I would wish upon a star.

I would wish for my brother to come back and pinky-promise never to leave me again.

A/N: Holá amigos! Yep, I'm back. Yeesh- sorry for the heavy chapter. I very nearly cried during Janie's flashback. It was necessary, though. Also- sorry for yet another mystery that you all are probably banging your heads against the wall for. I know, I know. I'm a despicable human being.

Okay. So- a little fun fact about this chapter: Janie's room is based off of a real place that I used to visit when I was a kid, up until I was- eight, maybe? Nine? I dunno- it couldn't have been more than five years ago- but anyhow, I used to go up into that room and leaf through all of the dresses and play dress-up. It was pretty fun making a flashback of my own. Anyway. Just in case any of you were interested (which, you know, you probably weren't, but oh well).

I also apologize about the intense slavery scene. It's really important in the plot line of the book, though. It wasn't really fun to write, as I was cringing the entire time, but it needed to be done.

I would like to thank reviewers:

JustNicula

JRezai

Audrey (guest)

Thank you guys SO much!

Alright. Now that I'm done with my lengthy author's note (GODS, I like to talk, don't I?):

Please review for this chapter! Give me thoughts! Suggestions! Thanks!