Chapter 32

Not All That Glitters Doesn't Explode

Maybe it was the lack of human-voiced monsters trying to gnaw my neck off, but the rest of the trip felt peaceful, even with Oreius at the wheel.

We didn't talk much. Bianca seemed like she might kill Emmitt if he opened his mouth, and one harsh word from her seemed like it would convince him to do it himself. I wanted to say it wasn't his fault so he'd quit looking so down, but at the end of the day, it was. I decided to leave it for a while, just so there wouldn't be a next time.

At least it wasn't long. Like Prometheus promised, we arrived in under thirty minutes of driving, pulling to a stop before a brick building coated with front-facing rectangular windows.

When we'd unloaded our bags on the sidewalk, Agrius leaned on the car door.

"Anything else?" he grunted.

"You're dismissed," Prometheus said. "Solid work, and do try to make it back."

Agrius nodded. After pulling open the door, he bobbed his snout at us. "Good luck."

He climbed in and the car sped off, clipping the curb on its way out of the parking lot. We were on our own now. In a way, this was where things really started.

"Well," Prometheus said, "let's head inside, shall we?"

I wasn't sure what to expect from the train station. Calling my life sheltered was like calling Aurora a little drowsy. Before today, I hadn't ridden in a car for seven years. The only memories I had of trains were New York subway rides nearly a decade ago.

Sacramento Valley Station was nothing like those. It was nicer. Maybe not as impressive as something like Grand Central, but the waiting room was clean and uncrowded, with shiny marble floors and a sweet mural of some historical event painted across the back wall.

When we'd claimed our tickets from the bored-looking woman at the window, Prometheus stopped to admire the view.

"John really was such a talent," he said wistfully.

"Who?" I asked.

"The painter of course." Prometheus pointed to the mural. "Few could sculpt or direct a brush like him. A son of Apollo, in fact. Fantastic artist. If only he paid more attention to the world outside his art, he might've noticed the hellhound creeping up behind him."

Bianca hadn't waited with us. She strode ahead, and had now plopped down on a wooden waiting bench, crossing her arms.

"How in the world do you know that?" she asked.

Prometheus just shrugged. "Oh, you meet people while laying low. Zeus may've allowed Hercules to free me, but don't mistake where that affection was directed. I was an extra feat for a favorite son, never an invited guest on Olympus."

"Is that why you chose the titans?" I asked. "You sided with the gods last time. Is it about revenge?"

Prometheus laughed and slipped around me, taking a seat beside Bianca. "That is merely a bonus," he said. "I don't care much for small things like revenge. I chose the titans because they are going to win. It's simple positioning, nothing more."

"Uh, guys?"

Emmitt waved to get our attention, stood next to a tall sign that read Carry on Requirements next to an illustration of a suitcase. What had Emmitt worrying was the text across the bottom. Maximum Weight: 50 pounds.

He was glancing back and forth from the sign to his bag, as if trying to convince himself the bulging seams somehow weren't triple the limit.

"We could always throw half of it out," Bianca suggested innocently.

Emmitt's eyes widened, and he wrapped himself around his stuff like a baby-faced spider defending its eggs.

I sighed. "I'll help him check it. Be right back."

The woman at the ticket window directed us to another window on the opposite side of the room, one with scales and a harried-looking guy in the same blue staff uniform.

Unfortunately for us, there was a line. A family of one, two, three, four… eight? It was tricky to count them all. They were all boys, dressed in hillbilly uniforms of overalls and suspenders. The dad wore a wide-brimmed straw hat that made his sideburns look like ginger helmet straps. The whole family's coppery hair was overdue about seven haircuts. While the father ranted at the rail worker with wild gestures his many sons fired around him, roughhousing and spitting and generally kicking up a mess.

"I'm sorry sir," the worker, whose name tag labeled him Steve, was telling the guy. "We just can't take it. Pets need to stay in a carry-on, and they can't be over thirty pounds."

The man grunted, trying to shove a massive covered cage through the teller's window. "And I'm telling you, this ain't no pet I got here. It's my uncle Leroy! You telling me to leave my own uncle behind? Huh?"

"That's even worse!" Steve said desperately. "Don't make me take a person! Tickets aren't even sold out. Buy one for him!"

One of the kids stopped playing to spit on the glass window. "Stupid dumbface," he said to the teller, hopping side to side like a monkey.

The dad shoved him roughly out of the way. "Now, junior, that's no way to behave. You got ta' be polite like your daddy. Watch n' pay attention now." He jammed his nose against the window. "You're gonna take this package while I'm still asking, ya hear, or I will crush your bones into pudding and slurp it down for New Year's Eve."

The poor worker had gotten progressively paler, until he was whiter than the marble floor. I was just wondering if I'd need to step in when it happened without me.

"Sir, there's a line forming. Just buy a ticket. Please."

"What?" The hillbilly flipped around. "Look folks, screw off—"

He stopped halfway, pulling his cage to the opposite side of him. His kids stopped wrestling to watch.

"C'mon boys. We're leaving." Even as he backed away, the guy wouldn't turn his back on us. Before he left, he shot the worker one more glare. "This ain't done. We'll be back."

"Please do not be," Steve said immediately. Then he turned to us. "Really sorry about that. I swear customer service gets harder every year."

He seemed glad to see them go, and I was too. Not only had they been holding us up, but looking at them was slightly irritating, like I was forcing myself to go cross-eyed.

"You get a lot of people like that?" I asked.

Steve wiped his palms on the sides of his uniform. "Usually? Nah. But there was this gloomy kid hanging around recently. When he'd walk by, I felt all cold, even with the heat on. Freaky stuff. But you're here to check a bag. Where to?"

"Seattle," Emmitt and I said together.

The guy blinked. "Funny, everybody's headed there these days. That's where that family's going. I think the creepy kid, too. Guess you're train-mates."

"Amazing," I said.

Steve looked like he would've patted my shoulder without the window in his way. "Tell you what, I'll give you twenty percent off the bag. You deserve it."

I took him up on the offer.

Train seats were comfier than car seats. Smelled better, too. If I had a complaint, it was that they weren't made with titans in mind. Our cabin was two cushioned benches opposite each other, and Prometheus' oversized knees took up the whole aisle.

"Don't mind me," he told us, smiling benevolently. "Settle in."

We would've loved to, but it was a little hard squashed together with our legs at awkward angles.

"How long will we be on here again?" I asked.

"Oh not long at all," Prometheus said. "The leaps mortals have made in transportation over the last hundred years are simply magnificent. We'll be all the way to Seattle by tomorrow morning."

Bianca looked disappointed. "Couldn't we have taken a plane?"

"No!" Emmitt and I shouted at the same time.

"Why not?" Bianca asked. "I keep hearing about them. I wanted to try taking one."

"You wouldn't get very far flying with this company," Prometheus said. "Trespassing on That God's realm would make for a very short flight. He doesn't take kindly to infringements on what he feels is his. Not very hospitable of him, but we all have our faults, and he simply happens to have very many of them. You don't want to see the last plane struck with his Master Bolt. Though that won't be an issue, considering it was reduced to smoke."

Bianca gulped. "Trains it is then."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that flying wasn't smart. But even past that, Prometheus seemed like the type to have perfect judgment on sidestepping danger. Which brought up something I'd been wondering since earlier.

"Prometheus," I said. "You had to know that was a trap with the Leukrokotta. I mean, if the rest of us were suspicious, I figure you knew for sure."

At the reminder, Emmitt lost the good mood he'd just started getting back, hanging his head and rubbing his hoodie's drawstrings together. If anything, it only made Prometheus cheerier.

"An astute question," he said. "I was aware of the trap."

Emmitt pulled up his hood and slowly dragged the drawstrings, disappearing behind a spiral of cloth.

"So?" I prompted.

Prometheus knit his fingers. "See things from my point of view. If all goes well, I will be in great danger in three days' time. Threats fiercer than any Leukrokotta will come from all angles, and I will be helpless to aid you. When such a time comes, I must know that my shield is made of the sternest stuff."

"In other words, if we can't even get you to Alaska ourselves, there's no point in any of this," I translated.

"Should I be forced to save myself, that would be a failing grade," Prometheus confirmed. "And— ah, I imagine I don't need to clarify what that means."

From somewhere deep in the folds of his hoodie, Emmitt whimpered. But it was Bianca that summed up my thoughts.

"Great," she said. "Babysitting. My favorite."

Prometheus smiled benignly. "I'll be in your care."

I was lucky to have snagged a window seat, but after an hour and a half I was realizing there was only so long that blurring countryside could distract from cramping legs. With Bianca napping and Emmitt still hiding in his hoodie, the only entertainment I had were the monsters.

There were tons of them, more than I'd seen anywhere except Mount Tam. A few were like animals; a hellhound hunting in the woods, or the tail of a serpent slipping into a rice paddy. But the others were stranger. Giants, Dracaena, and other humanoids I hardly recognized, emerging from orchards or side streets or from over the lips of hills holding up fists with their index finger raised, eyes fixed on our train.

"On us," I muttered as we chugged past yet another herd of snake women with inclined fists.

"It's a gesture of respect." Emmitt was starting to remind me of a snail the way he was hiding in his hoodie, but as he leaned forward I could see his eyes looking out over my shoulder. "The Ancient Greeks would do it when whenever they made sacrifices. The fist symbolizes the Earth, and the finger is to show they recognize the gods, pointing up to Olympus."

"Not only to Olympus." Prometheus hummed, penciling a letter into his New York Times crossword puzzle. A twenty-high stack of finished ones already lay piled at his hip. "The gods do love when mortals stroke their egos. So much, even, that they are not above appropriating old gestures to fit their personal taste." He held up his free hand, mimicking the gesture. "Pointing to the peak of Mt. Orthrys, a proclamation of loyalty not to be taken lightly."

I gulped. California had more monsters than anywhere else, what with the Titan's base here and all. I knew that, and yet just the monsters we'd seen since Sacramento could qualify as a small army. If there were even a fraction as many across the rest of the country… I knew they were on our side, but being surrounded is a feeling no demigod enjoys. It's as ingrained as our reflexes, or Ancient Greek.

"I'm going for a walk."

I stood up, squeezing through the others. Prometheus filled precipitousness into 13 across. "Enjoy yourself," he said.

I slid back the plastic door and entered the hall.

The Coast Starlight train ran from LA all the way to Seattle, and it was designed like it. There were nine cars in total, including two with rooms like ours and three for the poor suckers stuck in business class. The rest were made up of dining cars and lounges, some with tables, others just rows of seats positioned for views out the sweeping oval windows. To move between cars you went through two sliding doors. It was walled up and everything, but you could still tell you were almost outside, noise from the wind and rattling from the wheels underneath you.

The dining cars were next to empty, and most of business class had two seats to themselves. A kid in all black was asleep like that, his feet dangling into the alley and a hood pulled completely over his face. If Emmitt were with me, I wondered if they would've hit it off.

I'd say the low crowds were why the redneck family stuck out so bad, but they probably would've anywhere but at the National Corn Growers Convention.

"You call this meat!" The father was shouting in the last dining car, waving around his plate. Steve must've overpowered him, because his cage was sitting precariously on the leather booth seat beside him, the only thing his little hellions were scared to grab. In thirty seconds since opening the door I'd seen them steal two purses and yank a woman's shoe off her foot.

The door at the far end of the car was marked with a big sign declaring Luggage Car: Staff Only, so I turned and left the way I came in. I didn't have the energy to deal with that family again. That I thought I'd caught the cage snoring didn't hurt in making my mind up.

I did a couple laps. By the third the scenery out the window was starting to get lumpy, hills and real vegetation signaling the Central Valley was coming to its end. When I passed our cabin for the third time, I poked my head in.

Bianca was still asleep, Prometheus working away at his crossword. A new one, considering the completed pile was twice as tall as when I'd left.

"Emmitt," I said quietly. "Want to stretch your legs?"

The hoodie pointed my direction and bobbed.

"You might want to pull the hood down," I told him once he'd joined me in the hall. "Just to see where you're going."

"S'okay. Look."

He leaned forward, and I saw the hood wasn't actually drawn completely closed. There was a tiny gap where his eyes peeked through.

"Uh, alright. That works I guess."

We strolled through two cars before I broke the silence.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Ah." Emmitt's head drooped. "Makes sense. I'll just jump out now and save you the time."

He took a step toward one of the wide windows and I caught his wrist.

"Dude, chill out! I'm not mad."

Emmitt blinked. "You don't want to kill me?"

"Of course not! None of us do."

"Bianca does."

I thought back to Bianca's face after Emmitt ran off. "Err, that's not important right now. I'm telling you I'm not upset, I just wanna talk."

We stepped to the side to let an elderly couple pass by. When we'd moved back into the aisle, Emmitt's hoodie had loosened enough to show his nose. "Promise?" he asked.

"Promise," I said. "Now c'mon. You've gotta see the lounge cars toward the back. The view is crazy."

We snagged an open table three cars from the back, situated for great views of the couple thousand pine trees along the valley we were traversing the edge of. Even the foothill terrain had been left behind. We were in the mountains now, chugging for the Oregon border.

I grabbed a complimentary orange juice for each of us and tipped the server with the extra bucks from Steve's discount.

When I'd set the juice's down and slid one across the table, I took a deep breath. I'd thought a lot about it as I walked– how to cheer Emmitt up. I knew what it felt like to screw up. And, worse, to put people in danger doing it. I needed to make him understand that wasn't important now. What he did next time was.

"You know, the first time I tried to go out adventuring, I messed up pretty bad."

The orange juice had finally lured Emmitt's face out. He sipped the drink, looking curious. "Is that why your arm is, you know…"

"Metal? Nah. That one found me. This was the first time I decided to go looking for monsters, instead of the other way around. I had a little training, a weapon, and way more confidence than I should have."

"What happened?" he asked.

I chuckled, thinking back what felt like a lifetime ago to Flesh Tearer and Steve. I had to say, the Steve from today had way better customer service, just for the fact he never tried to cook me. "Short version? I got my butt kicked by a couple of Laistrygonian Giants. I would've died if they hadn't started fighting each other."

"Really?" Emmitt asked. "You?"

"Me," I confirmed. "Fighting monsters? Nobody's a natural. The longer you do it, the better at it you get. You just have to keep going."

That wasn't… a hundred percent true. For some people, it did come easier. Like Thalia, for example. But you could catch them with training, I believed that for sure, and bringing up grey areas would only give Emmitt a chance to brush off what I was saying. To get him to lift his chin up, it was worth fudging a few details.

"I can't picture it," he admitted, but he was smiling a little as he sipped his drink. "What went wrong?"

"Everything," I said. "I missed I tried to stab a giant bigger than Prometheus and missed, from right in front of him. I think my stubby arms didn't help."

"How old were you then?"

"Oh… about seven."

Emmitt's face immediately fell, and I rushed to fix my mistake. "I was almost eight! And really, eight is basically nine, which is basically—"

Emmitt sniffed. "Thanks, Percy. You're really nice. But even you can't spin things like I don't suck."

I sighed. "I mean it, though. Anybody can get better."

But my words weren't really getting through to him anymore, even as he nodded. I stood up. "Let's forget the views for now. Exercise is a better distraction anyway."

But as we started to head back up the train, the door slid open. Standing in the frame was the kid I'd seen napping, now very much awake.

Seattle seemed like the last place he should be heading, because his porcelain-pale skin was screaming for some Southern California sunbathing. His unzipped hoodie and cargo pants weren't just black, but dirty. Dark stains were visible along the edges. His shoelaces looked like something had chewed on them, and his bangs hadn't been cut for way too long. The money for his ticket would've been better spent on a makeover.

But what really struck me was the feeling. Just like Steve said, he made the room cold. It reminded me of standing in chilly fog. Which, after that morning, was a feeling I very much didn't enjoy.

"Hey." I put my hands on Emmitt's shoulders and steered him 180 degrees. "Let's check out the back of the train. The, uh, rear window is a real attraction."

For the first time, Emmitt's depression came in handy. He was too lethargic to argue. As we left the car, I felt the kid's gaze heavy on my back, as if it were coming from more than one set of eyes.

I led us into the next car back and waited. A minute later, the door slid open behind us. I didn't need to look back to know who it was. Trying to seem casual, I moved us to the next.

That door slid open too, slightly sooner than the last. Chancing a glance over my shoulder, I found the kid not even pretending he wasn't staring. There was only one car left, and even though I wanted nothing to do with it, I decided to take the chance.

If anything, the final car was more chaotic than before. The other passengers had fled, leaving the hillbilly family with full reign.

They all looked up when we entered. The kids even stopped scratching graffiti into the windows with their sharp fingernails.

"Wh– what do you want?" the father demanded. At least I assumed that was who said it. I couldn't actually see more than his eyes through a pile of looted food from departed passengers' tables.

"To look at the view," I said, putting distance between the door and our backs. "We want to see the rear window."

"There is no rear window, stupid," said one of the kids.

"I know," I said.

His bushy red eyebrows folded together like a Twizzler. "Huh?"

"I'm not explaining it," I snapped. "All you need to know is there's this kid–"

The door slid open. And there went the heat from the room.

One step, two steps, and he shut the door behind him. When he turned to face us, I got my best look at his pale face yet. It seemed familiar.

"Is this the dining car?" His voice was rough like he wasn't used to using it.

"One of them," I told him. "You already walked through the other."

"So did you," he pointed out. "Almost like you were running from something. From me."

Emmitt, oblivious to the tension, said, "We were coming to see the rear window."

"There is no rear window!" snapped the hillbilly kid from before. "Idiots! Stupid idiots!"

Emmitt looked around. "Oh, you're right."

"Forget the rear window," Emo Kid said. "Whatever that is. Why were you running?"

One of the hillbillies said, "We weren't running!"

"Not you! Them!"

"Us?" Emmitt pointed at his chest. "We weren't running."

"Yes, you were!"

Emmitt looked at me. "Were we running?"

"We were running," I confirmed.

"Oh." He turned to Emo Kid. "We were running."

"I know that! Why do you think I asked you why."

Behind us, I noticed the hillbilly dad starting to gather his kids. Every time somebody raised their voice he cringed, eyes drifting to the cage.

"Would you believe me if I said because you give off bad vibes?" I asked.

Emo Kid grinned. It wasn't a nice one. "Sure I would. I'm here to kill you after all." His hand dipped into the shadow between his unzipped jacket and his hip. When he drew it out, he held a three-foot sword that seemed forged from shadows itself. As he aimed the sword at me, his grin faded to a frown. "That line would've been a lot cooler if you guys didn't interrupt."

"Sorry," said the hillbilly kid from before. His dad slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Sorry," said Emmitt.

"Don't apologize," I told him. "He's trying to kill us."

Emmitt blinked. "Right! I'm not sorry. Take that."

"Oh just shut up!"

Emo Kid lunged, but I grabbed Emmitt's collar and pulled him out of the way. Anfisa formed in my hand. I parried the follow-up, and the clang from our swords made the hillbillies yelp.

"Just like that?" I asked. "You're going to show up, say you're here to kill us, and get straight to it? No introduction? No why?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you. Once you're dead, everything will go back to normal!"

As if to prove it, he tried to hack through my neck. I parried that, too.

"Fine," I said. "Let's do this your way."

I let a couple more strikes slide off my sword before stepping back. Our blades were nearly the same length, so my arms gave me the reach advantage. Every time he tried to get close I'd force him to block a slash and knock him back.

He gnashed his teeth. "Just die, brainwasher!"

Brainwasher? I hadn't heard that one before. But I had a feel for him now. The next time he rushed in I hit him with a feint. He jumped to parry another slash, only for me to stop halfway. I grabbed his wrist and forced his arm out of the way. Then I smashed his chest with my hilt.

He collapsed so fast I kind of felt bad, attempted murderer or not. His chest had less give than a skeleton's.

"You're not bad," I told him as he lay wheezing. "You've got talent. But you don't have enough training."

He coughed to get his breath back. "Of course… I have less… than you. Not everybody's… a thousand years old."

I gave him a weird look. "A thousand years old? You mean me? I think you've got the wrong person. I don't brainwash anybody, either. Sometimes I wish I could."

He only wheezed. "Can't… fool me. I know."

Before I could tell him he did not know because he was talking nonsense, the sound of squealing metal filled the room. Cloth tore. The whole hillbilly brigade began… howling?

They all sprinted into different corners of the room, pressing themselves to the walls. Rising from the cage, like a vengeful ginger mop, was a figure.

I thought it was an orangutan at first, broken out of some zoo. Then it opened its eyes, revealing distinctly human pupils. Its lips curled back. Incisors bigger than my thumb glistened as it began to hoot.

"Paaaaaaarty's here! And he goes by the name LEROY!"

Leroy's voice was so loud it was like being trapped in the barrel of a firing canon, noise reverberating off the walls and beating my eardrums. Everyone pressed their hands to their ears, and it still hurt.

Only after his outburst did Leroy seem to notice where he was.

"Hold on a darn second! This ain't that Space Needle! Junior! Explain."

"U-U-Uncle Leroy," stammered the hillbilly dad– or Junior, I guess. "I didn't mean to wake ya. Honest. I know what you said–"

"And why're you still looking like that?" Leroy interrupted.

"It's a disguise, Leroy! We're in public."

Leroy glared. "How are we supposed to raise our name if you go everywhere hiding? Ditch it!"

"I– Fine. Alright." A reluctant snap of his fingers later, the hillbilly dad was no longer a hillbilly. Bushy red hair sprouted over his arms and the rest of his body. His mouth expanded into a muzzle. In each corner of the room, his sons underwent identical transformations– into two-legged, burly apes. "I really tried not to wake ya though. It's just these demigods showed up out of nowhere and started a fight."

"With you?" growled Leroy.

Junior shook his hairy head. "With each other!"

"Why'd you interrupt, monster!" Mr. Dark And Gloomy complained from the floor. "I almost had him!"

"Excuse me?" I said.

But he wasn't listening. His hand ducked under his jacket, just like it had when he drew his sword.

"Percy, look out!" warned Emmitt.

The black sword disappeared, sinking into the shadow of the table it'd fallen under, only to reappear in the pale hand it had started in. I began to move away before cage clattered to the floor behind me.

Leroy was an orange blur as he jumped to the wall and kicked off, banking to land behind my opponent. Leathery fingers clenched around Emo Kid's wrist and neck, hoisting him into the air with a startled grunt.

"I have this dream," Leroy said. "Kids like you won't understand. You don't know what it's like to grow old ignored and forgotten. I do, but I'm not staying like that. I'm going to climb higher than anybody ever has before. I'm gonna stand on top of the world, and everyone'll look up and worship me. I'll be like a new god born, and when that happens everybody is going to know the real satyrs."

Maybe there were more important things to worry about, but I had to ask, "Satyrs? You mean the guys with goat legs?"

Leroy's grip tightened, making his captive glare at me harder than when we were fighting to the death.

"Who gives a hoot about those prissy vegetarians! Why is it they're the only Satyrs anybody ever cares about? I can't stand it! When I'm standing on top of the Space Needle, there'll only be one type of satyr on people's minds: the Satyride Satyrs! Applause."

On queue, his family members clapped for his declaration.

"Satyride Satyrs…" Emmitt mumbled. "Satyride Satyrs, where have I heard that– ah! You guys lived on the southern islands. Merchants hated you because were always raiding boats."

"'Course we did!" Leroy boomed. "If you saw the jewels they sailed around with, you would too. There's nothing more important in this world than something shiny."

"What about people recognizing you?" I asked.

Leroy paused. He opened his mouth, then closed it. I could tell he was doing his best to think. I wouldn't put any drachmas on his best being all that great though.

Finally, his epiphany came. "Shiny things!" he decided, "because if I get enough of 'em, I won't even need to bother climbing at all! I'll just sit around, admiring the shine."

Emo Kid burbled something like he wanted to talk, but the grip was too tight. He couldn't exactly lose color in his face seeing as he didn't start with any, but I figured his oxygen levels were currently somewhere between none and too little.

"Why don't you set the kid down," I said, "and then we can have a long talk where you tell me everything about Saturday Satyrs–"

The kids howled in the corners. "Satyride!" barked Leroy.

"See? Just means I've got more to learn. Clue me in. I know you don't get your fur that silky without some killer conditioner."

Leroy popped his puffy lips thoughtfully. "You caught me at a bad time, son. Any other day of the year and I'd jump at the chance. But I'm on my way to do the greatest feat anybody ever gosh darn completed, and if I don't rest up with enough shut-eye I'm liable to slip and splatter. Why do you want him freed, anyhow? I was under the impression you was trying to kill one another."
"We were fighting," I admitted. "But I can't exactly ask him why he attacked me if he's dead. Or choking, for that matter, so if you could just set him down…"

"I think what we've got on our hands is an impasse," Leroy said. "See, I set him down and you two go back to fighting, I won't be able to sleep. Much simpler to kill him."

I leveled Anfisa at the monkey man. "And if I decide to fight you for that?"

"Oooh, that's an easy one." He rose onto the balls of his feet, fangs glinting. "I'll kill you, too, before I lay a beating on my family for letting you wake me up. All them top athletes pay attention to warmups these days."

I didn't wait around to listen to Junior and the others whimper at the promise. I charged.

It wasn't the safest choice I'd ever made, which with a track record like mine is saying something. I was worried he'd finish off his captive before I got close, and the whole fight would be for nothing.

Instead he freed his hands by chucking Emo Kid roughly against the wall, where he slid onto a table with a thud, his face sinking into a plate of abandoned mashed potatoes.

By the time I slashed at Leroy, the space he'd been was empty. He leaped around, kicking off walls and coming at me from odd angles, grabbing with his meaty hands. First from the right. Then from the left. Even from above, using the ceiling.

Compared to bowling balls, Leroy's fists moved in slow motion. The problem, I realized quickly, was that I couldn't hit back. By the time I realized where he was coming from I only had time to dodge. As soon as I was ready to swing back, he was already out of range, and the whole thing repeated all over again.

At least it wasn't a group fight. Probably because they knew they were next in line, his family wasn't lifting a finger. Emo Kid was still dazed. Rather than attacking my back, he seemed too busy blinking and moving his lips like someone was talking to him.

As I ducked another grab more than capable of crushing my neck, I felt like growling. This location was terrible. With so many surfaces, Leroy would never need to stop moving.

Then he fired off a window, and the pane shattered.

The wind roared in even as I leaned out of the way.

I thought about changing to Anthea, but even an extra few feet wasn't enough to catch the Satyr at the speeds he was moving. As I leaned into another dodge, waving by the door caught my attention.

"Percy!" Emmitt shouted. "We're on a train car!"
"I know, Emmitt! And a little busy here."

"No!" he said. "We're on a train car. Like, the last one."

He had one hand on the door, and I realized what he was trying to tell me. Why sit in the center of the room where I had to watch four sides? Much better to make things cramped.

I sprinted across the car, rolling once to dodge Leroy, and popped up next to Emmitt and the door. Together, we stepped into the gap between cars.

Leroy howled. "Ya can't leave yet. Proper warmups last for thirty minutes!"

"Come get me then," I taunted.

He'd paused on the far side of the train, hanging from the ceiling with a one-handed grip. His wingspan was absurd. His body had to be under five feet tall, but his arms could reach past his toes.

"What's wrong? Scared to come closer?"

Leroy squinted, squeezing his whole leathery face forward. "One thing about climbers you really got to learn. We love planning our routes."

Without warning, he hurled himself forward. He came pinging from wall to wall, changing the angle constantly. I tracked him, muscles tensing.

What I didn't expect was for him to hit the window he'd broken earlier, and for the rest of it to shatter.

Leroy disappeared with a shocked hoot.

"What the–" I couldn't believe it. "Just like that? So much for planning routes."

Emmitt seemed like he might collaps from relief. "Let's just get out of here. Before anything else happens."

He hurried into the next car before I could stop him.

"Hold on! We still need to interrogate–"

The wall to my right collapsed.

It was only thin plastic, not metal like the cars. That didn't mean I expected a shape to bust through it like paper. Before I could process what was happening a hand had me by the neck, holding me from behind.

"What'd I say?" There was no mistaking Leroy's voice, just like there was no mistaking his grip. "Climbers and their routes. Don't forget about 'em!"

I said something real intelligent like 'Umph'.

"Don't think about stabbing behind ya, either," Leroy said, walking me back into the dining car. "I'll squeeze, and you won't even make it halfway. Ooh, but now that I get a closer sniff at you, you smell mighty interesting. Saltwater? Killing you might just be better than climbing that Space Noodle or whatever it is. Zeus might just give me a medal. Junior, you ever seen one of them goat satyrs with a medal?"

"N-N-Not once Uncle L-Leroy. Can't e-even imagine it."

"Right? I'm gettin tingly just imagining."

More than that, he was starting to hold harder. I felt a sense of empathy with Emo Kid. If you ever got your neck stuck in one of those trash compactors that crush cars, I imagined this is what it would feel like, but add in some stench. I had a horrible suspicion this was the hand Leroy used for scratching his unmentionables.

I was beginning to wonder if I should just try and stab him – worst case it just made the process faster – when Leroy grunted.

Emmitt was back, and he'd arrived with a full-on body check.

It also hadn't moved Leroy an inch.

"You need to eat some meat," Leroy said, almost sounding apologetic. "There's no weight on your bones, kid."

Emmitt whimpered. I thought it was because he was scared, but I couldn't really say, seeing as the whole thing was happening behind me

Then, all of a sudden, Leroy dropped me.

"Give me that!" he shouted, lunging for Emmitt. The other Satyride Satyrs sprinted forward too, a huge change from the cowering they'd been up to since Leroy's threat. They were all focused on something in Emmitt's hand, and when I saw what, my chest constricted like I was back to choking.

It looked a whole lot different from the last time I'd seen it, but there was no mistaking one of the metal eggs Daedalus had given us, even with green hairline fractures glittering across it. The thing was shining like an emerald, only getting brighter.

"It was in my pocket!" Emmitt wailed, desperately dodging the furry horde's hands. "I didn't mean to set it off!"

Daedalus's warning played in my ears. Make sure you're as far as you can be when five seconds are up.

"Get rid of it!" I shouted, but I didn't need to bother. Emmitt had already chucked the orb across the car.

The Satyrs sprung after it without hesitation.

"The jewel will be mine!" shouted Leroy.

Junior shoved him aside, using his kids as steppingstones to move faster. "Ours, you mean!"

I sprinted the opposite direction. As fast as I could.

Emmitt and I raced through the door, throwing it shut behind us for whatever extra protection it would offer. I counted down in my head. Three. Two. One.

We tumbled into the next car, falling over ourselves as we ducked and covered.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Rather than covering our heads, we should've covered our ears. The noise was deafening. Around us passengers screamed, only getting louder when metal shrieked and wind rushed into the car. I rolled over and watched the back wall disintegrate, green flames eating through commercial-grade steel before stopping.

And that was only the edge of the explosion. The dining car at the epicenter didn't exist. There was only scattered shrapnel falling from the air, lit with emerald flames. Looming in the background, broad and white against the burning wreckage, was a familiar snowy mountain. If anything, Shasta looked more beautiful than the first time I saw it, years ago, out Daedalus's workshop window.

"That was in my pocket?" Emmitt asked, his fingers trembling.

"Remind me to be extra careful with my bag from now on," I said. There was something bothering me, though. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to be alive and all, but it didn't make sense. "What was that? Why did Leroy let go? He had me."

"Satyride Satyrs like jewels," Emmitt said. "They really like them, I guess. You heard what he said. They must've thought the bomb was a gem."

Put like that, it seemed like a really stupid way to die. Leroy hadn't even gotten to climb the Space Needle. But I guess they weren't really dead. Monsters would always be back, in a year or ten or a thousand. I wondered if the Space Needle would still be there by the time he got back.

We watched the debris land and sink straight through patches of snow. Within minutes, I could spot trees lit with those ominous flames.

"Do you think…" Emmitt was watching the trees, too. "Do you think that kid ended up, you know…"

"Disintegrated?"

Emmitt flinched, but I bumped his shoulder. "Nah, he's fine. I'm sure of it."

Because I'd seen it, from the corner of my eye as we ran for our lives. The table Emo Kid had been on was empty, not even a scrap of fabric left behind. I didn't know how he pulled it off, but I knew he had. He'd disappeared like he was never there.

A ding, and the captain's voice came over the intercom. "Attention, passengers. Please remain calm. I am aware of the emergency, and offer my sincerest apologies for our negligence. We will be making an emergency stop until help arrives– Who are you? You aren't supposed to be in here!"

There was a pause. The worried mutters from the mortals around us got louder.

When the captain's voice came back, he sounded strangely calm. "Understood. Change of plans, folks. We will be continuing on to Seattle. Anything else, sir?"

"Yes." A familiar voice came over the intercom, slick like oil. "Percy, Emmitt… not a good start. This much is no intervention; I am only being a touch impatient. But if I'm forced to do so again…"

Prometheus's threat (because that was what it was) hung in the air, even if the sound of his voice seemed to have calmed the other passengers down. The ones in the back row were going about their business, ignoring the wind forcing their heads forward and the green sparks fizzing right behind them. At least somebody was feeling better.

I sighed. "Let's get back to the cabin. I need another nap."

"A nap sounds nice," Emmitt agreed. "Maybe new clothes, too."

Before we left the car, though, he froze.

"Percy," he said slowly, "what about the luggage car?"

We both turned. A couple hundred feet behind the train and getting further was the luggage car, stranded on the tracks and half-eaten by Greek Fire. What bags were still intact were slowly turning to ash.

"Ah, it'll be okay?" I didn't mean for it to be a question, but that's how it came out. "Maybe your bag survived. I'm sure they'll send someone to collect the ones that are still there."

In losing its front wheels the car had also lost its balance, because as soon as I finished talking it tilted to the side. Flipping over and over, the car picked up speed as it raced down to the base of the valley we were riding along, landing in the river with a SPLASH! audible all the way on the tracks.

"Or maybe not?"

Emmitt sniffled. "My stuff…"

I rubbed his back. Next stop: Seattle. Hopefully, it would prove a little more hospitable than the open road had.

Who was I kidding? Better to brace ourselves. Nothing ever just ends up simple.

(-)

Fun fact of the day: Satyrs of the Satyrides are believed to be based off travelers' accounts of apes in Southeast Asia. They're also known not for their love of jewels but for violating women, but I think you can see why that wasn't something I wanted to bring into the Percy Jackson universe. Or to write about in general, frankly.

The chapter after this one marks the point where I'll have to start using a lot of google maps because we're into places I've never been, so that's been fun. If anyone reading this happens to be from the Northwest or know the areas they're traveling through, and I get things wrong, my bad. There's only so much a search engine can do for me.

Final note, I think this is my favorite chapter title yet.