Part II: The Fall
"Here too it's masquerade, I find / As everywhere, the dance of mind / I grasped a lovely masked procession / And caught things from a horror show… / I'd gladly settle for a false impression / If it would last a little longer though"
-Johan Wolfgang von Goethe
"I didn't care who kissed you first as long as I kissed you last."
-Rachel Vail, If We Kiss
Rachel II
Rachel sat in uncomfortable silence at breakfast that next morning. Her parents were not happy that she had snuck out of her room at approximately 3:15 that morning (according to the security camera that, unbeknownst to her, had been watching her every move for the past five years ) to go to the house of a boy. It didn't help her case that he wasn't even a rich boy, even though she had pointed out numerous times that just earlier that night he had been seen arm in arm with Brooklyn socialite Drew Tanaka (of Tanaka Incorporated) at one of the hottest parties of the year. Now she'd probably be grounded for the next year, that is, if her mother didn't decide to send her off to charm school this instant without even a discussion about whether or not Rachel even wanted to go.
"Rachel Elizabeth Dare!" Her mother's voice pounded at her skull for the umpteenth time that morning. Rachel's parents had used her full name on her so much in the past year that she had just started introducing herself like that anyways. She figured that whoever she was meeting would hear it sooner or later, so she might as well give them a heads up.
Rachel shifted uncomfortably, her pale legs itching from the velvet on the seat of the chair she was currently sitting on in the breakfast room, and her ears burning with her mother's words as their butler rushed around them, continuously offering the family 'more coffee?' even though it had been made clear numerous times by the entire party that no, they did not want more coffee, and 'would he please stop asking?' She knew she could change the subject easily, shift it to the entire reason she hadn't gotten her sketchbook when she'd left Percy in Central Park the previous afternoon, but that would start up a huge argument that Rachel figured would be even more painful than the lecture she was currently enduring.
Her thoughts drifted to Drew, the girl that Percy had come home with. Percy had made it pretty clear the previous night that neither her, nor Drew, seemed to share any romantic feelings for each other. Well, he had not said it outright, but Rachel could just tell from the way they'd departed from each other. Even so, as Percy had recounted Drew's plan to get Eros to notice them, Rachel's stomach had shriveled up into a million tiny knots of jealousy. It was one thing with Annabeth; she had been there first and wasn't a super-rich daughter of the Greek goddess of beauty who'd somehow managed to put him in a suit. No, she considered the blonde a lot less of a threat than the girl who had driven Percy home in a limo like it was no big deal. Even the thought of Percy kissing that mythic bit—
"Rachel Elizabeth Dare! Are you even listening to us? Your mother asked you a question!" Mr. Dare shouted at her from over his kale omelet and dragon-fruit smoothie. Since when have you cared about people listening to anything your wife has to say? Rachel thought, but once again, she kept the question to herself; this morning was going badly enough.
"I'm listening." She mumbled, rolling her eyes and turning to her mother, who had dark circles of worry under her eyes and her red hair pinned up in a tired bun. She wondered how her mother wasn't falling to pieces under the stress. If Rachel did feel any guilt whatsoever this morning, it was for worrying Veronica Dare, who had enough to worry about without her daughter scaring her half to death.
"How are we supposed to know that we can trust you after this?" Mrs. Dare asked, although Rachel knew her mother still totally trusted her. If she didn't, she wouldn't have texted her the picture of fluorescent yellow lipstick that she had found in the couch cushions of the parlor with a frantic message asking not where her daughter was, but rather if the lipstick belonged to her at 4:21 that morning. It had not. "It is of my utmost opinion that Clarion Ladies Academy would do wonders for her," he noted to her cheating husband.
"No!" Rachel protested. "Look, I know I messed up, but my entire life, my friends, are all right here, Dad!" she tried. "Look, I met Drew Tanaka last night and didn't totally mess up things with her; I could be a socialite, like you've always wanted."
Wesley Dare considered this for a moment. Rachel knew that, above all, her father valued the good reputation of both his business and his family. It didn't help his already permanent bad mood that his only daughter, who was going to inherit the company eventually, was constantly denting her reputation with holey, paint-covered jeans and stand-up-to-the-man rallies, so the idea of her turning her life around like that without the tabloids having to question why on Earth the Dares would send their only daughter away seemed to genuinely please him.
"That seems like a good idea," he started, and Rachel got her hopes up. "That being said, however, you're still going to be grounded from any events that don't involve your socialization with the upper class of New York City and its surrounding areas. Most importantly, you are not in any way allowed to see that Perseus Jackson fellow. I don't like what he's doing to you. I'll have our people contact Mr. Tanaka's people; I'm sure his daughter would be more than happy to show you around the lifestyle of a socialite and the New York City social scene." Rachel groaned and slumped down in her seat; she was not looking forward to spending the day with Drew.
As soon as she got back up into her room, Rachel threw herself on her bed and stared up at her ceiling. She did not even understand why she had agreed to her dad's proposal. Percy was the only slightly normal thing in her life (even though he was nothing but normal), and she would just let him slip through her fingers. Her mother had taken her phone away, so she couldn't text him, or anyone else, and in less than twenty-four hours, she was going to be learning how to be a stuck up, self-centered socialite from the poster-child for stuck up, self-centered socialites. What a joy.
About two hours later, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mother welcoming someone into the parlor. She closed her eyes tight, hoping that maybe if she concentrated hard enough, Drew would just go away.
Rachel immediately flashed back to her eighth grade cotillion, the last social event she had gone to, which other daughters-of-rich-people had attended, and besides last night, the last time she had talked to any high-class citizen around her age.
First of all, her date had been assigned to her by her father, who was trying to make a business deal with the company of her date's father, and he had smelled suspiciously of Elmer's glue and dead catfish. Her date had picked his nose the entire time, stepped on her feet as they danced, and tried to kiss her with his finger still in his nose. Let's just say Rachel's father had not made the business deal with her nose-picking date's father, and Rachel had realized that she was not cut out for the life of charming her father's business clients' children.
After about a year of avoiding all social contact with people who, according to her parents, were "at her level", Rachel now found herself sitting on her bed with the annoyingly flawless Drew Tanaka standing in her bedroom door. She immediately felt inferior. It had been one thing at night when they could both barely see each other in the dim, flickering light of the hallway of Percy's apartment building. Now, in the blinding sunlight, Rachel could see clearly, that yes, Drew was just as beautiful as she had seemed that morning; dark hair shining in the sunlight, and dark eyes that were covered with a thin layer of gold eyeliner glaring at the girl on the bed. Rachel had not put on any makeup, and her frizzy red hair was back in a bandana, waiting to be brushed.
"I suppose this was your idea?" the daughter of Aphrodite complained. She walked over to one of Rachel's bookshelves, her Prada heels clicking on the wood of Rachel's bedroom floor, and started examining the books on her shelf, not seeming to even care that Rachel had neither welcomed her into the bedroom, nor said it was okay to touch her stuff.
"It was either you or charm school." Rachel retorted. "Don't feel too flattered, hon."
"I've been to charm school," Drew started. "It's good you didn't go; the girls there would eat you alive. Of course, so will I." She spread her ruby lips into a twisted smile. "But at least you won't be missing home afterwards."
Rachel smiled uneasily. Since she had been a little girl, plenty of monsters and things had tried to eat her alive, but she wasn't totally sure if Drew was joking or if that was just a special power that daughters of Aphrodite had. "Uh… okay…?"
Drew rolled her eyes. "Let's get this over with. First thing's first: I need your phone."
"Can't," Rachel sighed, tossing the ripped up teddy bear on her bed up into the air and then catching it again. "Parents took it since I'm grounded."
The other girl's dark eyes flashed with murder. "Let me talk to them," she commanded with a sweet voice that did not at all match the expression on her bronze face.
Drew left the room for a few minutes, and she returned with Rachel's phone. "It's on airplane mode, so we won't have any monsters attacking your lovely penthouse." She started to fervently tap Rachel's touch-screen phone. "I'm entering into your contact list every girl in the city around our class and age. Of course, there are a few from elsewhere that I know of, but you can't get those that easily." She threw the phone at Rachel when she was done, seemingly without a care as to whether or not the screen smashed into a million pieces. "Now, since we're doing this the quick way; I'm going to need to go through your closet."
Rachel immediately sat up in panic. Her first thought was of a show she used to like where these two supposedly fashion-experts would throw away someone's entire wardrobe and then hover over their shoulder as they bought more new clothes. She shuddered. She would hate it if anyone, especially her parents or Drew, tried to do that to her. "You're not going to throw away my clothes are you?"
The daughter of Aphrodite shrugged. "Only if they don't fit my standards." Rachel groaned and face-planted back onto her bed. She would have to get their butler to dig through the trash to get her clothes back after Drew was gone.
The dark-haired girl started rummaging through Rachel's closet, throwing things behind her. Finally, she emerged, her face flushed and her eyes wider than usual. "Do you own anything besides ripped jeans and paint covered shirts?" she asked, her voice suddenly shrill.
Rachel thought about it for a moment. "I actually don't know. I mean, I guess there's a few smocks and stuff in there, and maybe the dress I wore to my eighth grade cotillion…" She winced as war memories filled her brain. "And probably a Harvard hoodie that used to be my dad's, but really, what else do you need?"
"I'd better get paid for this." Drew muttered before going back into the closet. She came back out with a teal off-the-shoulder shirt that Rachel remembered her Aunt Victoria buying for her at one point or another, but that she had never worn. Drew tossed the shirt at the redhead. "This is the only thing I might wear in public that I could find in your gods-forsaken closet. Put it on."
Rachel sighed, pulling off her purple and blue tie-dyed t-shirt and pulling on the teal shirt that Drew had thrown at her. It still smelled like her aunt's house: like caramels, saltwater taffy, and cat litter. Upon seeing the redhead in the chiffon shirt, the other girl smirked, obviously pleased with herself.
"I mean, we'll need to find you some designer jeans or high waisted-skirts to go with it, but I'm assuming you could wear this at least once for some afternoon tea or something with those of a lower social standing than you, but if you wore this to one of my afternoon-tea-things, I would shun you into oblivion, so keep that in mind." Rachel immediately felt overwhelmed. "Tsk, tsk; we're going to have to go shopping for you. You do have a credit card, right? Of course, I can't be seen out in public with you looking like that, no matter what your social standing is; I've already suffered enough damage for my reputation to handle in the past forty-eight hours, so you're going to need to be driven to my place."
The daughter of Aphrodite started striding out the door before turning back to face Rachel, who was still face-planted on her bed. "Oh, and tell your little boyfriend that if he does anything to crinkle that suit, I will personally make sure his head ends up on a pike." With a flip of her long, silky, black hair, she left Rachel's room, before the redhead could even say he's not my boyfriend. Rachel consequently groaned loudly. This was going to end up the longest, most tedious day ever.
She pulled a pillow over her head, trying to block out the memories of the cotillion that Drew's visit had filled her with, but it was too much. Lately this had been happening more and more often, as Rachel blacked out and images of a strict, hawk-faced lady and a blonde, twig-like boy both in extremely exquisite formalwear came over her.
About forty-two kids had been packed into a conference room of some fancy hotel that evening. Unfortunately, Rachel had been one of them. She was not totally sure why she'd agreed to the cotillion. Rachel supposed it had been back when she had still tried to please her parents as much as possible, before the angsty you-don't-understand-me teenage years came into full swing. Maybe there had been some reward for her going along with her parents' desires, or maybe one of her supposed "friends" at that time had been going and Rachel had not wanted to feel left out.
All she remembered was that for some reason or other she had gone to an exceptionally old, extremely cranky Mrs. Dubior's house every Monday and Thursday for two months in the summer and sat through copious amounts of lectures on basic need-to-know things. Such things included topics like what kids of soup were classified as "commoner's soup", the basic ten steps on how to use a fan, and most importantly; how to dance every single kind of ballroom dance that there was. There had been many more types than thirteen-year-old Rachel had even known existed. She had been paired with a skinny boy with white-blonde hair named Wesley, who had wiped his nose constantly with the cuffs of his hundred-dollar dress shirts, and who's hands had been so dry that every time they had been forced to dance together, Rachel had imagined she was dancing with a dinosaur, and then proceeded to chuckle to herself at the thought, because she would've rather been dancing with a dinosaur than Wesley.
Needless to say, she had begged her parents to take her out of the class after the first week. Looking back, Rachel supposed that it was the cotillion itself that had forced a wedge (made of tiny sandwiches, lemon cake and boys with dinosaur hands) between her and her parents. For a brief time, they had actually been getting along. She hadn't had the nightmares in months and, to celebrate, they'd all gone to visit their friends, the Petersons, with whom the Dares had always seemed had a friendship with. After about the first three days, however, Rachel had had a fight about who-knows-what with the Petersons' daughter, Marissa, the nightmares then soon consequently returned, and it had been decided that she would attend Mrs. Dubior's class of horrors.
The memory in question, however, was not one of the awful Monday or Thursday afternoons that she had spent in the pomegranate perfume-smelling, cat-filled mansion of Mrs. Dubior. Instead, Rachel found herself back in the conference center. Back in that itchy lavender dress and those too-tight designer heels that her absent-minded mother had picked out for her at one point or another. Of course, she was staring in the face of Wesley. This was always how the flashback started. Not at the creaky old house, not getting ready with her cotillion friends at one of their gigantic penthouses, not even when the cotillion actually began. It was always with Wesley.
She assumed that maybe her subconscious was trying to tell her something about the boy. Maybe that she should seek him down now because he'd gotten totally hot, or maybe that she should at least consider apologizing to him for real, because honestly, who actually believed the forced apologies that rich parents made their spoiled rotten children make for their predictably spoiled behavior. Perhaps it really was as one of the psychics she'd secretly went to had said; maybe someone was trying to contact her through Wesley, maybe that's why the memory was slightly different every time.
This time, the roses on the tables were purple. She knew deep inside that they had been white roses, but they were purple this time, alerting her to the fact that this was another one of her black outs.
Wesley glanced over at Mrs. Dubior nervously. "Um… uh… you l-look nice," he said shakily, although he did not seem very certain about his statement. He never did. He was probably one of the reasons Rachel still had self-esteem issues. Wesley's uncertain compliment damaged her confidence every time she experienced it. She tried to shake it off, focusing on other parts of the room to see what was new, but as far as she could tell, it was just the purple flowers.
"Thanks." Rachel responded, looking around the conference room nervously as they danced, once again trying to piece together anything else that might possibly be wrong about this black out.
The conversation continued as normal, with small talk about the weather, and Wesley apologizing every time he stepped on her toes. Then came the kiss. She was not certain why it bothered her so much. Sure, tons of people she knew had had awful first kisses, and it had not been that bad (Okay, it had been that bad). This time, however, after the kiss, which usually stopped the kind-of-dream, Wesley pulled away from her and whispered one word into her ear: "Orthrys."
Rachel woke up.
She looked out her floor-to-ceiling bedroom winder to see Drew's limo waiting outside for her. Shopping was the last thing from her mind with the blackout that had just happened, but if it kept her out of her counselor's office and boarding school, then Rachel was willing to put up with it… Just for today, though. The redhead sighed, pulled on some shoes, and made her way down the velvet staircase to the parlor, where her newly excited mother sent her off, probably absolutely thrilled that her one and only daughter had a shopping buddy who, according to the NYC Gossip Hopper, was insured for about 1.3 million dollars, and who also, according to Veronica Dare's lunch buddies, had an entire fleet of yachts sitting on some private island in the Gulf of Mexico.
Rachel usually knew not to trust the unfounded wisdom of her mother's brunch buddies, but she had to admit, Drew Tanaka was an impressive girl. She somehow managed to attend every charity ball, every socialite tea, and every single ribbon cutting of her father's business without revealing to the world, or the press, that she was, in reality, a total bit…
"Chop, chop!" The daughter of Aphrodite called from inside her limo, which looked like it had been covered with the dust of a thousand diamonds. "I don't have all day to waste time with you, you know, I have a spa appointment at four and a dinner date at eight!" Rachel shoved her fists into the pockets of the worn cotton jacket she had thrown over the teal top, hoping to all the gods of Olympus that she would come out of this encounter without being bored to death by her blabber, and without having attempted to claw the other girl's eyes out with her own nail file.
They rode in silence, Drew vainly examining her nails the entire ride and the redhead slumping over in her seat in complete and utter boredom. She dreaded having to actually shop with this stuck up girl with a heart of ice. Shopping was supposed to be with friends who could make you laugh… at least that was what contemporary novels and television had taught her. Most of Rachel's friends were boys, however, or girls who did not particularly enjoy shopping, so that assumption had never really been tested. She couldn't even imagine the daughter of Aphrodite cracking a genuine smile, much less laughing.
They stopped at a luxurious hotel, and Drew daintily stepped out of the car, one white designer boot in front of the other. She turned to Rachel. "Stay here," she hissed, like a disturbed cat, and went on her way towards the lobby of the hotel. Drew returned with a handbag the size of some of Rachel's canvases, and a hot pink iPhone in her hand.
As the daughter of Aphrodite entered the limo once again, Rachel felt the need to ask. "Uh… aren't demigods not supposed to have phones?"
"Please, honey, do you think I actually use the data? What kind of idiot do you take me for? I don't have that much of a death wish."
"Then why do you have it?"
"You know you can do things other than call people on a phone. For instance, I have a map of all the current hottest shopping centers screen-shot and saved on here. I can't go carrying around a giant map like a tourist now, can I? Especially not in this top."
Rachel could tell, just by passing the mannequin display of a store, which stuck up billionaire it was geared to allure. Luckily, Drew didn't drag her into any of the first-wives-of-Manhattan stores, which were filled with long faux-fur (or real, if you paid more) coats, dresses with plunging v-necks and pencil style skirts, and baby-heeled Mary-Janes, or into any of the toddlers-literally-in-tiaras stores, which consisted mostly of lace, bows, tutus, and ruffled collars. Unfortunately however, Rachel was dragged into every trophy-wife boutique, every London-tea-socialite shop, and every single one of the god-awful Jersey-shore-prom-queen-geared outlets that the daughter of Aphrodite knew about, and boy did she know a lot of them.
Somehow she went through more looks than she'd even known about. Was punk-indie-surfer-mermaid even a real thing? They had gone from store to store, searching and prodding for something, anything that would please Drew enough to let Rachel finally go home. She felt like she had been tested on by the government for having extremely weird powers or something, not like she'd just gone shopping.
Then there was the matter of Drew not smiling. She didn't smile when she walked into a store. She didn't smile when she picked out an outfit for Rachel. She didn't smile when she criticized every fiber of Rachel's being like that one old-guy judge on that singing competition reality show that sometimes aired on that channel with the teen moms. She absolutely didn't smile whenever Rachel talked. The only time she ever smiled was when she was talking to a sales associate or her chauffer, and even then, it was obviously only a forced polite smile. What kind of person didn't smile when they were doing something they loved?
"So you shop a lot, right?" Rachel asked. She knew the answer was obvious, she could tell just by looking at the amount of shopping bags that had been packed into the limo in the past few hours that were all for one girl with a golden credit card. Still, it was hard to get Drew's attention without invoking the words "shopping," "heiress," or Rachel's current favorite: Mean Girls' quotes, and honestly Rachel really wanted to know the answer to that question. She was hoping for something along the lines of, all day every day, or even possibly a lecture on how shopping was an art and she was an imbecile for even asking such a question.
Instead, the daughter of Aphrodite rolled her perfectly-lined eyes. "What do you think?" Rachel had to admit, she was surprised by the other girl's sarcasm. Maybe Drew had a higher IQ than she'd originally thought.
"You must like shopping then, right?"
"Where is this going?"
"You're obviously not enjoying yourself right now, even though you're doing something that you probably do often because you love doing it. What's up with that?"
"Listen, sweetheart. I find you quite a challenge. You intrigue me with the way that you somehow manage to ruin every outfit combination I pick out for you, which almost goes against my very nature. Your hair is a constant mess, you don't fit any of the aesthetics that this city offers, even the extremely obscure ones, and honestly, you bug me in a way that I don't believe anyone has ever bugged me before."
"Gee, thanks. Sure makes a girl feel important."
"There is one last store on this list, one last splinter of hope that I might actually make a girl out of you. You'd better not mess it up."
Rachel examined herself in the mirror of the dressing room. Although the past few hours had been agonizing, she had to admit it, Drew had helped her look as close to flawless as the redhead thought she had ever been before. She took a deep breath, smoothing out the wrinkles at the top of the gorgeous (Rachel had never thought she would ever use that word to describe a skirt before) printed maxi-skirt that she was currently trying on in the dressing room of one of the stores Drew had forced her into. Slowly, Rachel pulled her hair tie out of her fiery hair, letting the flaming curls spill out. Her hair had grown in the past year, now falling slightly past her pale, freckled shoulders and down her back. She made a model-esque face in the mirror and then laughed. When was the last time she had looked in the mirror and cared about how she looked, much less found herself beautiful?
"Come on out, loser," Drew called from behind the thick dressing room door. Her tone was mocking, but Rachel had noticed throughout the day that the mocking tone was filled with the ease of friendship, rather than the annoyance that the daughter of Aphrodite had held in regards to the redhead earlier that morning. Rachel stepped out.
Drew smirked; the closest thing she had had to a smile the entire day. "You actually look… nice, for once," she announced, although Rachel could tell that the girl standing in front of her was trying hard not to be pleased that not only did she like the skirt, she also looked absolutely fantastic in it.
Rachel grinned in response. "Thanks. First of all, I'd like to thank my parents for forcing me to spend the day—"
Drew cut her off. "Okay, okay, you don't need to get so worked up. I said you look nice, it's not like you just won America's Next Top Model or something like that."
"Well I consider it quite an accomplishment," Rachel said, still grinning. Rachel turned away from her shopping companion towards the three mirrors that were outside the stalls of the dressing rooms. Suddenly, she had an overwhelming desire for Percy to see her like this. She would bet Annabeth never wore anything like this. Maybe she would finally get Percy to look at her as a girlfriend and not a girl friend.
But Annabeth's kissed him, a little voice in the back of her head chimed in. It was like a punch to the gut. Every single time that she tried to imagine a future where her and Percy were like together together, she was always somehow reminded that Annabeth had kissed Percy and she, unfortunately, had not.
Rachel felt a sort of determination rise up inside her. She was gorgeous. She was smart. She was talented. She would even the score somehow. She did not exactly know how or when she was going to make it happen. She was going to get her kiss with Percy by the end of the school year. Wait… she… she was thinking a lot like the spoiled daughters of her father's clients. She shook her head, clearing her mind and letting her mane of red curls rise and fall around her. Sure, she looked good in the skirt, but that was no reason for her to think like that.
"Careful," Drew taunted from behind her. "Thinking about boys when you're shopping will ruin your good mood."
Rachel immediately spun around, completely shocked at her words. Was being psychic one of the powers of a daughter of Aphrodite? "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"Sweetheart, it was written all over your face. There's just this I'm-thinking-about-Percy-Jackson look that I would recognize from a mile away; I've seen it like a bajillion times."
"You mean on Annabeth?" She asked, dubious.
"Please, honey, every other new kid at camp has worn that expression, at least, until they hear about Annabeth, and then their fear is more powerful than his good looks."
"She's not that scary," Rachel countered.
Drew snorted. "She's been going easy on you, hasn't she?"
"I would hardly call it easy." Rachel relayed the story of how the first time she'd ever really spoken the blonde girl, she'd talked about playing dumb to the teachers at Goode when they'd asked about the band room and Annabeth had asked was it hard, as if to insinuate that Rachel was dumb.
"Yeah, she's been going easy on you," the other girl cut in, smirking. "You should've seen my half-brother, Tony, after Annabeth was done with him."
"You mean guys like Percy too?"
"Guys, girls, immortal titanesses. It's actually quite nice that your boyfriend is so oblivious, or else he'd have a bigger head than Ares." Rachel suddenly heard a large clap of thunder. Drew rolled her eyes and started shouting at the dressing room ceiling. "Oh come on, you know it's true." She turned back to the redhead. "It also doesn't help that my wonderful mother has decided to take a special interest in him. I'm pretty sure she's given him one of her minor blessings, what with all of my fellow campers falling in love with him at first sight."
Rachel had turned back to face the mirror, and now she laughed at her kind-of-friend, loving the way her smile looked in the mirror. "Okay, now you're just joking."
"Maybe I am. You're too good for him anyways."
"Thanks for the optimism, but I think I'm going to stick with him for now."
"So are you going to buy the skirt or not?"
Rachel rolled her eyes, turning back to the daughter of Aphrodite. "What do you think?"
"Good, because it makes you look hot."
"I know."
"Just promise me one thing: you will not buy this nor wear this skirt specifically for Percy Jackson under any circumstances."
"I promise," Rachel sighed, slightly exasperated. "I doubt he'd be able to handle how hot it makes me look anyways."
This time, Drew really did laugh. "Please, he wouldn't know hot if it hit him in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush."
"You know about that?"
"Please, sweetheart," Drew started, waving a perfectly manicured hand as if to brush aside the question. "I know everything." This time, Rachel was the one to laugh.
Then Rachel paused, suddenly remembering her blackout from earlier that day. "Um, have you ever heard of Orthrys?"
She got her reaction just by the way that the daughter of Aphrodite stiffened, clutching her designer handbag closer to her. Drew's eyes suddenly got guarded, even though they had been full of humor just seconds earlier. She pulled the redhead close to her by the wrist, her nails digging into Rachel's pale, skinny arm. "Don't you ever say that name again, you hear me? That name is bad luck for demigods, and if I ever ever hear you say it again, I swear on my mother I will hunt you down. Understand, hon?"
Rachel nodded, suddenly way more terrified of the daughter of Aphrodite than she ever had been before. With all the eyeliner and shopping bags, she had forgotten that this girl, although being a rich and famous socialite of the greater New York City area, had been trained to kill. Sure, she knew mortals were mostly off limits for demigods to even touch, in fact celestial bronze just slid right through them without causing any damage whatsoever, but still, she doubted Drew would have that hard of a time getting a mortal weapon in her hands.
The redhead tried to lighten the mood by turning the conversation back to the magnificent skirt again, but Drew only smiled a half-smile, her eyes glassed over in fear. They lightened up eventually, as the two girls made their way down Madison Avenue together, arm in arm. The daughter of Aphrodite wasn't actually that bad, Rachel thought, and maybe she would enjoy hanging out with her a little more as the days went on. Maybe Drew would stop asking to be paid to hang out with her. Nevertheless, Rachel suspected that, although the blackouts would heighten as Kronos got closer to the city, and despite the fact that she was grounded from seeing Percy again for months, she might actually enjoy herself for a while.