Chapter 34

Making Friends Through Violence

For the record, when I said we'd find something I thought it would at least wait until we'd left Waterfront Park.

Instead, waiting where the wood turned back into sidewalk cement, were the punks whose theft attempt I'd foiled.

It was the first time I really got a look at them. Their t-shirts all had skull patterns, and parts looked like they'd taken scissors to the edges. Two wore eyeliner. One was using a rusty chain for a belt. I'd noticed the piercings and spiked bracelets before, but up close I spotted something new– they were all fakes, clip-on earrings and plastic jewelry. All of them had tattoos on their necks and arms, but the designs on the guy I'd drenched were half-dissolved. They were the press-on ones that came off after a shower. All in all, they looked like rich kids playing dress-up, or low-budget actors preparing for a play.

Their faces were identical, too. I hadn't noticed from a distance since each was wearing his black hair differently– a mohawk, a buzzcut, even one with a mullet. Some had added neon dye to make pink or yellow streaks. But their features, eye color, and angry expressions were one-hundred-percent the same, mirrored five times.

The one in front held out his hands. I didn't need three guesses to figure out which he was. Water still dripped from his fingertips.

"We were waiting for you!" he said.

"Do we know you?" I asked.

Truth be told, seeing them up close was reminding me exactly why I stepped in in the first place. It made me happy they'd sought us out. Stress relief was an important part of any brainstorming process.

"We aren't stupid," said the one at the end. His mohawk was a few inches too short to be considered cool, and the lines of pink and purple weren't helping. "We saw you, um… What was it we saw again?"

The one in front, who I took for the leader, glared. "Charrer, if you can't look cool doing it, don't say anything at all."

"But Shatterer–"

"Don't give my name away!"

Charrer cringed. "But you used mine…"

"They can know the minions!" Shatterer said. "Don't you know anything? Only the boss has to be mysterious."

It was like watching a tennis match. I wondered if they really were amateur actors, and this was some kind of rehearsal.

"I'm glad you guys are enjoying yourselves," I said. "If you don't mind, we'll just slip past…"

We inched to the side to move around them. Two stepped across, blocking our path.

"Think they're gettin' away they do," said the one on the left. He had dreads, and must've pulled the short straw with their party-trick tattoos. While the others had tigers and spiders he was stuck with a cute, fat duck down the side of his arm. "Ain't that right, Smasher?"

The one on the right grinned. Despite his buzzed head, his pearly teeth looked ridiculously well cared for. "Took the words from my mouth, Destroyer."

Emmitt held up a hand. "Just checking, but are those codenames? Because if they are, I think you could get more creative. Branding is important these days, and the first thing people see is the name. To stand out, you have to pick one that will stick with people, but not in a way that grosses them out. The right name can increase recognition by up to sixty percent. Like how Bucky becoming the Winter Soldier let him totally redefine his image. The worst thing you can do is let yourself be confused with someone else. Then whatever you do people might mistake for someone else's work, and your effort goes to waste. This works for good deeds and bad deeds, but it's ideal for…"

He trailed off, suddenly aware we were all staring at him.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Sorry." His shoelaces became the most interesting thing on the waterfront. "They reminded me of superheroes with the names, and it just sort of came out."

Biographical detail added: Emmitt was a comic geek. In more pressing concerns, our path was still being blocked, and we didn't have time to be throwing away.

"Marketing rants aside," I said, "you haven't said why you're talking to us. You mentioned seeing me do something? Tell me about it, so I can explain why you're wrong and we can all go our separate ways."

"He's trying to talk his way out!" Smasher jeered.

Destroyer smirked. "Knows he's getting his teeth knocked in he does."

"And he probably has to go to the bathroom!" Charrer joined in.

"You really won't get out of the way?" I asked.

"We're onto you my man," Shatterer said. "I know it was you with the bottle. You stepped on our toes, stopped us having our fun. We don't let things like that go."

"Alright." Bianca pulled her bow case off her shoulder. "That's enough, isn't it? They aren't leaving and they definitely aren't normal. A regular person would never assume you moved water with your mind."

"Yeah," I agreed. "That's all we need."

In two swift flicks Bianca's bow was freed and drawn. She was getting fast at that. Practicing when I wasn't looking? Anyway, I didn't bother with my weapon yet.

It was honestly messing with my head. I thought I had gotten past Thalia's death. It was so far in the past, and it wasn't like we knew each other that long in the first place. I wasn't Luke. But it was hard not to get close to someone when you save each other's lives. It might have only been a few months, but I cared about her, and looking at these guys was making a scene play in my head on repeat– one with Furies and a storm that pissed me off way more than their dumb threats.

With three lightning-fast steps I was right in Shatterer's face. And I punched it. Hard.

Shatterer crumpled. The noise was so loud people looked over. A few started taking videos, and I wondered if I was going to end up on YouTube. Evil Freshman Assaults Innocent Punks! **Gone Wrong**

Even Bianca winced. "Ouch. Anger issues much?"

"You were going to shoot them with arrows!"

"Maybe," she said. "But I don't think I'll need to now."

The punks were all staring at me. Destroyer and Smasher were backing away slowly. Charrer was frozen on the spot. Only the last one didn't look shaken. He was watching a seagull strut down the boardwalk with a dumb little smile on his face.

At my feet, Shatterer moaned. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" I couldn't believe it. "You said you'd knock our teeth out!"

"But that's your teeth," Shatterer said. "Doesn't mean you can go and hit us first. The good guys always fight fair. Those are the rules!"

I crossed my arms. "You're a hypocrite. How many people have you jumped like this that couldn't fight back?"

"N-none," said Charrer. "We don't like violence much. Vandalism is way better. But Shatterer was really mad you drenched him. He convinced us to try something new."

On the ground, Shatterer covered his face. I think it was more to hide his blush than the purple splotch forming under his eye. "Just get out of here!" he shouted at us.

Suddenly Bianca was there, kneeling in front of him, setting her bow on the ground. "Oh, we will. We'll go far, far away. The problem is, we're a little stuck right now. If we don't figure something out we'll be staying here. Right here, where you are, for a looong time. You don't want that, do you?"

The punks shook their heads.

"Perfect." Bianca smiled widely. "We need some locals to show us around. I'm so glad you volunteered. First, any idea how to get to Alaska? Someone willing to drive four people to Anchorage tomorrow?"

She paused just long enough for Shatterer to open his mouth, but not long enough for him to get a sound out. "Of course you can't. It's a stupid idea. What about seaplanes, though? There have to be some of those. Just take us to one."

There was a moment of silence. "Uh, yeah," said Charrer. "There's a seaplane place. W-we can take you there. Right away Ma'am."

Bianca preened at the Ma'am part. I guess she was weak to praise. "Lead on."

"Wait." Shatterer peeled his hands off his face. There were tears on his cheek, making his blotchy bruise blotchier. "All you need is a way to Alaska?"

We shared a look.

"Well, technically it is–"

"Yes," I interrupted Bianca. "It doesn't have to be a plane or anything."

Even if it was the last place he wanted to look, he stared straight at me as he said, "There's somebody you should meet."

The punks led us down a couple of side streets to the least evil car I had ever seen: a beat-up Subaru minivan at least two decades out of date.

"Really?" Bianca said. "This is your car?"

Shatterer beeped the key fob, striding around to the driver's side. "Nobody's laughing when the doors pop open and five batches of evil leap out. Besides, nobody wanted to ride in a middle seat."

"You know their slogan is all about love, right?" I asked.

"Just get in," Shatterer said, shutting the door.

Bianca took shotgun. Charrer squeezed in beside Smasher and Destroyer in the middle row. Which left me and Emmitt in the back with the last guy.

I'd noticed before, but something seemed off about this one. He hadn't threatened us. He hadn't fought. I wasn't entirely sure he knew what was going on. His eyes were glazed like a concussion victim.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He stared at me. "Eleven."

"That's an… interesting name."

He nodded. "Seagulls. Purple."

"Riiiight."

Shatterer started the van and pulled into the street. He didn't signal, which seemed to improve his mood enough to get him to stop scowling.

"His name isn't eleven," Smasher said from the middle row. "That's just his favorite number. His name's Crudebake."

"Crudebake!" agreed Crudebake. Then he got an idea. "Eleven Crudebakes?"

"Just one," Charrer said. "Thank the gods."

"Ruin our reputation enough already with just the one of you, you do," said Destroyer. "The great Daemons Ceramici will never instill fear toting a runt like you around."

The van was surprisingly clean. An air freshener shaped like a hammer dangled from the rearview mirror. Bobbleheads of mythical creatures lined the dashboard, seemingly custom-made. My favorite was a lopsided hellhound wedged between a cyclops in a tunic and a dracaena wearing a tutu. The hellhounds tongue hung out, reminding me how long it had been since I saw my own dog.

"Daemons…" I said. "You all are spirits."

"Feel like respecting us yet?" grumbled Shatterer as he cut off a Tesla, then quickly switched back to the lane he'd been in before. The other driver honked. The sound only fed Shatterer more energy. "Your lives are flashes to us. A blink. Nothing. Get it? We've walked this planet for thousands of years."

"And still can't take a punch," Bianca said.

Shatterer glared. He didn't say anything, though. We all knew it was true.

After fifteen minutes I noticed the neighborhood outside the dirty windows getting pretty nice. Gone were the cramped apartment complexes and grimy exteriors. We were in the land of three-bedroom homes, front yards, and landscaped hedges. The type of places you wouldn't be surprised if they had a maid. As we climbed higher the views got better, and the driveways filled with progressively more expensive sports cars.

"Are you sure we should be here?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious of the dirty minivan we were backfiring our way into suburbia in.

"Of course!" said Charrer. "We come here all the time."

"I'm warning you, if this is all some elaborate trick to dump us and get us arrested, I'll track you down and waterboard you and your ride."

From the driver's seat, Shatterer shivered. "We work here, man. And tricks like that aren't our style. If we're going to mess you up, we'll do it to your face. Stabbing backs isn't cool, even if it is evil."

Bianca rolled her eyes. "At least you have honor. What do you do, trim lawns? Dust wardrobes?"

"We're contractors," Shatterer said. "People hire us to get them… un-stuck, I guess you could say. Our longest-term client lives right up here." He pointed out the dashboard, resting his hand on the cyclops bobblehead. "That place. The red one."

I was kind of disappointed. Hearing that they hired these wackos, I figured the house would look as eccentric as the owner must be. Maybe some wizard spires. A revolving glass door or two. Anything you'd look at and say, "Wow, don't see that every day."

Instead, aside from spiffy a coat of paint somewhere between cherry and plum, it was a big two-story home with nothing to differentiate it from the hundreds of other houses in the neighborhood.

We pulled to the curb and all spilled out. I wondered if any of the neighbors were peaking through their blinds, glaring at the eight disheveled teens that had the nerve to pollute their immaculate suburb.

Shatterer led the way over granite stepping stones laid across quartz shards. I smelled freshly cut grass from neighbors' backyards. Back the way we'd come, a leafblower whined.

A short set of white steps led up to the door. Shatterer took them without pausing and knocked three times.

I could hear a voice talking inside, but only one. It got louder until I could hear footsteps. A latch unhooked.

The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged woman with serious eyes and brown hair captured in a tight bun, scattered strands escaping here and there. Her lips hung loose like she wasn't used to smiling. I didn't think she was old, but her skin was already wrinkling in all the places it would crease with stress. A smartphone was pressed to her head. There was a pencil was tucked behind her left ear, a ballpoint pen behind her right, and an uncapped marker was held between her teeth.

"I'll geh you deh design by tomorrah," she said into the phone, slurring slightly from the marker. "Don' ruh me."

A voice squeaked something angry from the phone. She cut it off by hanging up. She pocketed her smartphone, took the marker out of her mouth, and pointed the inky red tip to Shatterer. "It's not the weekend, guys. You know what that means. I work, and you don't. So tell me, why are you here?"

Shatterer answered carefully, looking between me and the woman as he went, making sure his words weren't putting weight on either set of toes: "Well we… came across these fine demigods here, and it seems they've got a request of the utmost importance to them."

"Came across? Yeah, sure." The lady stared at his bruised cheek. "You threatened them, didn't you? Of course you did. You wouldn't look so scared otherwise, and you never would've taken them all the way to see me."

"No!" Shatterer said. "Well, maybe. But you've got to listen to their story. I think this might be a chance."

She sighed, rubbing fingers through the creases on her forehead. "I'm working. You know how little time I have on these days. But I'll give you five minutes to explain, just for my most trusted business associates."

"Aren't we your only associates?" Charrer asked.

"For now," the woman said. "Be grateful for the lack of competition. It's the only reason you have a chance. The clock is ticking, by the way."

Without saying anything, Shatterer stepped out of the way. Everyone looked at me.

"Hey. I'm Percy."

The woman's lips went flat– which, with how a frown seemed natural for them, I took as her way of smiling. "Nice to meet you, Percy. My name's Rose. Let's hear why you've been brought to pitiful old me."

I wasn't sure I'd call anyone with a house this nice pitiful, but maybe that was the poor kid in me talking. I spilled our destination, choice of ferry, and the way the ocean played a little prank. The only things I skipped were why we were going to Alaska, and any mention of how we escaped. I'd been caught in too many traps to go blabbing key details like that. If this turned out to be a set up, I didn't want Rose to have any idea what I could do until her kitchen sink turned against her.

When I was done, Rose checked her phone. "Three minutes fifty-five seconds. Nice concision. Spell it out for me, though– what are you asking for?"

I shared a look with the others.

"A way North?" Emmitt said hesitantly.

"What kind?" Rose pressured. "A plane ticket? I could get you guys a discount. You look like you could use it. Or are you asking to borrow my car? Because that's a no. Tell me specifically. One minute left."

"We don't know." Bianca dug her heel into the rocks, crunching quartz. "We're only here because these idiots said you could help."

"We can't fly," I said. "It would get dangerous. None of us know how to drive. We were planning to take a boat before that random storm–"

"Eurybia," Rose interrupted. "Her name's Eurybia. Fifty seconds."

"You know her," I realized.

"You could put it like that."

"Then tell us about her. What do you know?"

"A lot more than you have time to hear in forty seconds. Eurybia's a vengeful old bag. Stay away from her, or she'll never let you go."

"But how do you beat her?" I asked.

It had started to drizzle, drops falling soundlessly. Rose smiled for the first time– a sad, defeated expression. "You don't. Thirty seconds."

Before I could snap at her, Shatterer stepped in front of me.

"Listen," he said. "I know you don't like talking about Eurybia. After all she's done to you, I get it. But these guys here might be your shot–"

"Twenty seconds," Rose said.

"Then let me talk! Anyway, I've got a story. I was liberating a few refreshments from tyrannical rule with my swift dexterity. I pulled it off perfectly, of course. The ugly, wrinkly, stupid shopkeeper never spotted a thing. And then–"

"Ten seconds."

"AND THEN the craziest thing happens. A bottle explodes! This water's got a mind of its own, wrapping around and harassing me. I fought it off, of course. While I'm doing that, though, I look and see this kid staring over, watching it happen. And when I say this kid, I mean THIS kid, the one in front of you. I can't be sure, but I've got my suspicions, so I thought I should bring him to you."

A high-pitched bell chimed. An alarm from Rose's phone, the end of the timer she'd sent. Five minutes was up.

"And there goes my break." Rose ran a hand over her hair, flattening loose strands. "Nice meeting you, hope you get where you're going, fill in the rest on your own."

She began closing the door. Shatterer hopped onto the top step. "Rose, just a second."

"You got three hundred of those."

"He's a son of Poseidon!" Shatterer shouted.

The door shut.

I was about to say, welp, that's it, and jump back in the van so we could drive somewhere with less of a view and more of a mess where I might feel comfortable.

The door flung open.

"You!" Rose shoved Shatterer out of the way and grabbed my collar with two hands. "Poseidon!?"

I thought about going for my sword, but nothing in her face said she was trying to hurt me. Honestly, she looked desperate. Shaking my head no seemed like it would destroy her faster than any weapon.

Luckily, that wasn't an issue.

"Yeah," I admitted. "That's my dad."

I'd never seen a grown woman cry before, but there were a couple tears in the corner of her eye. "This changes everything. Everything! Shatterer you amazing, stupid idiot. Why would you not lead with that?"

Shatterer coughed. For how tough he usually tried to look, getting praised sure made him blush. "I was just trying to build up to things. Good storytelling y'know."

"We all brought them," Charrer spoke up. "It wasn't just Shatterer!"

"Then all of you are amazing! Hail the Daemons Ceramici!" Rose spun, marching into her home. "Follow me, glorious dumbasses!"

The Daemons really were identical. They all wore the same dopey blush as they plodded into the home.

"Duh-har-har," giggled Crudebake. "Crudebake is glorious."

It was quickly down to our trio on the porch.

"Are we going in?" Emmitt asked. "What if it's a trap?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice," I said. "This is the best lead we have. Besides, I smell chocolate."

Our stomachs grumbled in unison.

"First one to the food," Bianca said.

Before Emmitt or I could get a word out she'd sprinted inside. We followed, of course. I wasn't letting her hog the snacks.

On the other side of the door was a hallway, long and straight. The carpet was clean, the air only slightly stuffy, but I noticed lines of dust along the corners, like it hadn't been cleaned since last year.

There were a lot of pictures on the walls. In one, a racing sailboat crested a wave taller than its mast. In another, a man with a striking resemblance to Rose stood holding a baby, his other arm over the shoulder of an older man that must've been his dad. The dad was built like a gray-haired linebacker wearing a checkered shirt and polo shorts, but he never could've been an athlete with those legs. They were grizzled and scarred, with one knee bending left even though he was standing up straight.

I also noticed a bunch of employee of the month certificates stamped. These had been pinned up clumsily, like whoever had done it didn't even want to look at what they were hanging.

The living room was nice enough. The scent of sweets was in the air, and I could hear a wind chime somewhere outside the sliding glass backdoor. The Daemons were sitting on the thick carpet around a wooden table coated with sugary treats. I could hear Rose in the next room over, humming to herself as she grabbed more from the freezer.

"Took you long enough," Bianca said through a mouthful of chocolate. "C'mon, have some."

It would've felt more genuine if she didn't grab another handful of Hershey Kisses before we could get close.

"Ah! He's here!" Rose bustled in, dropping a Costco-sized box of trail mix by the table. "Perfect. Let's get to planning!"

At some point she'd pulled her hair out of the bun, letting it run free. She looked five years younger. It might've been her grin.

"Can we slow down for a second?" I asked. "What are we even planning?"

Rose walked to a cushy recliner and dropped onto it, splaying out. "How to beat Eurybia, of course."

"Didn't you say that was impossible?"

"That was before I had you." She jammed her fingers between the chair's cushion and the armrest. A couple seconds later she came up holding a notebook, hastily flipping to a blank page. "Do you think you could mitigate structural strain by breaking down the undertow?

"Huh?"

She tapped her pencil's eraser against her lip. "No, you're right, that's silly. Much better to focus on redirecting the whirlpool's inertia."

"Ignore her," Shatterer said. "Once she gets like this, nobody can understand a word. She'll calm down soon and explain it in normal words."

"Yeah," Bianca said, "have some chocolate. Oh, none of mine though!"

I squeezed into the space between her and Emmitt. Just to be spiteful, I did take one of her chocolates, although I timed it to when she wasn't looking. I caught Shatterer watching, and he gave me a grudgingly approving nod.

There wasn't anything crazy about the room. The carpets smelled a little like beeswax. Unlike the hallway it was well-cleaned, particularly one corner with a laptop sitting next to headphones and a familiar smartphone. The phone was buzzing with a new text every few seconds, but Rose didn't look its way once.

There was one thing that was a little odd. Perched on a one-legged stand next to the kitchen door was a glass bottle, a model ship set up ] inside.

You should know this by now, but I'm awful at doing nothing. I went to check it out.

There was a gold plaque on the front with an inscription– The Argo. Greatest ship to sail the seas.

"Ah, careful!" Charrer stood up, raising his hands. Then he realized who he was rebuking, and clammed up. "I mean, only if you feel like it, but that's kind of–"

"He means it's valuable," Shatterer said. "And not just a little."

I leaned closer without brushing the glass. "I can tell."

This wasn't just a model. The rudder was functional. The sails were set perfectly. Every inch of wood gleamed with varnish. Somehow I knew just from looking that a full-sized version would be sea-worthy.

"Like it?" Rose asked, arriving back from notebook land.

"It's beautiful," I admitted.

"Three thousand years ago my ancestor, Argus, made it before he set the real thing out to sail. Heard of him? The architect behind the Argonauts' boat, greatest shipwright to ever live? Our family's chased the perfection he achieved ever since."

"Three thousand years old?" I asked. "It looks like it was made yesterday."

Rose smiled sardonically. "Athena's blessing. The wood will never weather so long as one of the family is alive. The only one of her gifts we have left."

I flinched slightly, stepping away. Paranoid, I know, but hearing it was an Olympian's gift made me worry it would start shooting lasers if I stayed too close.

"I guess you aren't on terms with her anymore?" Bianca asked.

She said it casually, but I caught her hand leaving the chocolates to rest on her bow. I wasn't the only paranoid one.

Rose just laughed. "You could say that. We built ships for her for millennia. Not just her, for all the gods. Anyone's favorite demigod needs a ship that won't fail them? Call Argus's descendants, they'll get the job done. Poseidon had dozens of kids in our family. Hephaestus is my grandfather. Athena was our patron, the hand that guided Argus himself and would watch over us forever… or so we thought."

She slammed her fist into the recliner, making springs squawk. "The next big thing comes around and nobody wants you anymore! Ships? So nineteenth century. It's all about planes now. Planes this, planes that, planes planes planes. What's so great about those flying cans?"

"I get you," I said.

"So get you," Emmitt agreed. "Overrated. Awful really."

"Well I wasn't giving up!" Rose, well, rose in her seat, chin jutting to the room. "I was going to stick with my craft. So what if that cranky owl spinstress had a new hobby? I'd make a boat so powerful, so sleek, so sexy that they'd have no choice except to come crawling back!"

She deflated. Her back dropped against the cushions, arms dangling off the sides. "Others had different plans. When you're on a pedestal, it's hard knowing who you've made an enemy of. With our protection blanket yanked off, it was open season."

"This is where Eurybia comes in?" I guessed.

"Among others," Rose said. "She's the worst though. The rest got bored after a few decades. Not her. The goddess of sea conditions couldn't stand how our boats cut through her tailwinds and skipped over her storms. Now whenever one of our boats takes to the seas she sinks it. Every time, without fail, no matter the size or place. She only sits outside Seattle because she knows that I'm here, the only one left. My father died a ruined man. I'll die a ruined woman. In a way, I already am."

She rubbed circles in her temples. "Only Boeing would hire me. Their genius engineer. Two-hundred-fifty thousand a year to design airplanes. Remote working. Flexible hours. This beautiful, hollow house. I hate it."

"You asked what we do." Shatterer matched the mood, keeping his voice quiet. "In the old days, we would break potters' work. You could say we were born for it. Daemons Ceramici, banes of clay work everywhere. At some point, people got the idea we helped with artistic inspiration. By creating something even we can't destroy, artists push past their limits. That's the rumor at least."

"Rose pays us to mess up her work," Smasher said. "Stealing blueprints for new boats. Breaking tools. Unplugging the coffee maker. The idea is, eventually, she'd come up with her own masterpiece."

"Hasn't happened yet," Destroyer said.

"Of course it hasn't." Rose shook her head. "A ship that could survive Eurybia's storms? That's impossible. It doesn't matter how well you design it or what materials you use. Some waters can't be sailed."

"Unless you had someone to clear them for you," I said.

I could see the change in her face. Dimples formed on her cheeks. Her eyebrows raised. She grinned, back to the exuberance she'd showed at hearing my heritage. "That would change things. I'm taking that as an offer, by the way."

"It is," I said. "But we need something in return."

"Name your price. You want a kidney? My life savings? Help my baby set sail and it's yours."

"Can your, uh, baby reach Alaska?"

"I'll forgive you for asking that, because you don't really know who you're talking to yet." Rose held up all her fingers. "Give me ten minutes. Eight to pack, and one to quit my job."

"What's the last minute for?" Emmitt wondered.

Rose pushed herself up. The drizzle outside had hardened into real rain, drops clinking on the darkened windows. "The last minute is for getting the camera. When we make Eurybia cry, I am going to immortalize it, frame it, and hang it over my bed while I sleep for the rest of my life. Every time I roll over I'll see her miserable, and remember there is some good in this dark cold world. Anyone want more snacks?"

(-)

Fun Fact of the Chapter: Destroyer's speech style is based off a Shadow Thief from Baldur's Gate 2... so now I can justify those hours playing Shadows of Amn instead of writing as research. Large brain maneuvers.