Chapter One: A Wizard in the Kitchen
The gods are real. Okay, I know how that sounds. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some Jesus freak, I'm not talking about Christianity and their 'big g God'. I mean the 'lowercase g gods'. As in the Greek gods. The gods you learned about in school between naps. They weren't just stories people told to make themselves feel better - and really, have you read any of the old myths? Who would feel better about themselves knowing the only thing stopping an angry goddess from stomping you into a mint plant or turning you into a giant spider is that it hasn't happened yet?
So yeah, the gods are real. And one of the most common links of the old stories was their kids. Demigods. Half-bloods. Heroes. Whatever you call them, they were the all-stars of the ancient world. Bigger than life, legends in the flesh. You couldn't throw a stone without hitting one in some story or another. So what happened between then and now, you might ask? What do you think happened? The gods haven't changed that much in three thousand years - being immortal tends to lead to developmental stagnation.
So, to recap; The gods are real, and they have kids. Lots of them, really. You might be thinking, how do I know all this? Or maybe not. I'm not a mind reader, I'm a demigod. See what I just did there? You might think being a demigod is cool or exciting. I wont lie, it is absolutely cool and exciting. But it's also scary. And dangerous. And, all too often, short.
Because while the gods are real, that also means the monsters are real too. I'm not talking about the 'things that go bump in the night'. I'm talking hydras, chimeras, and the Minotaur. All of them real, and all of them want to eat us. Normal mortals don't really smell like much of anything to most monsters. And of course the smell of gods nearby will send the monsters running in the other direction. But some strange combination of the two within a demigod is like ringing the dinner bell.
My name is Penelope Jackson, and this is my story.
"Long ago, in the faraway land of ancient Greece, there was a golden age of powerful gods and extraordinary heroes. And the greatest and strongest of all these heroes was the mighty Hercules. But what is the measure of a true hero? Ah, that is what our story is..."
The narrator was abruptly interrupted by Thalia, one of the Muses that was painted on a vase coming to life, "Will you listen to him? He's makin' the story sound like some Greek tragedy."
I stood, watching the movie play out on a TV screen through the window of a Radio Shack. Even though the movie was wildly inaccurate, I still found it to be entertaining. And not just for the bright colors and slapstick. Only mostly.
"And then along came Zeus!" I caught myself singing along with the opening song as a man in a pin-striped suit roughly jostled passed me with an expression on his face that could only be described as thunderous. I flipped him the bird but he just kept walking. A few passersby gave me curious looks.
"What're ya lookin' at?" I snapped, turning away from the movie in the window and skulking off. It was probably for the best. I would have spent the next hour and change staring transfixed at the screen if I hadn't been interrupted. A glance through another window showed it was half passed ten, which meant Uncle Joe was probably already waiting for my arrival at his restaurant.
Okay, so he's not really my uncle. That's just the story we tell people who ask questions. In truth, he's a nice old man who found me digging in his dumpster like a feral raccoon. The bags under my eyes and my wild mess of hair only added to the effect. Instead of running the other way, he took me inside and gave me a hot meal. It was the first 'real' food I had eaten that wasn't found in a garbage can or dropped on the ground in the park in over a year.
After I had eaten my fill, I begged him not to call the cops. They'd just send me back home, I reasoned, and I'd just run away again anyway. Eventually, he relented on the condition that I come by once a week to eat and so that he could see that I was doing okay. I countered that I didn't want any handouts, and that if he was going to be feeding me, I would work in the kitchen. After that, I came by once a week to help out from just before noon until closing in exchange for good food. Mostly, he had me breaking down cardboard, sweeping up the floors or taking out the trash. Occasionally I even took customers their orders if the place got too busy.
Eventually, he took to tutoring me with a basic education in math, literature and the Italian language. His wife had been a teacher once upon a time, and though she was gone, he wanted to honor her memory and love of knowledge. Besides, what kind of niece would I be if I couldn't speak the language? I even managed to convince him to teach me how to cook. It was unlikely I'd have access to a stove and ingredients on the street, but he eventually relented, agreeing that it was still a good skill to develop.
By the time I got to Russo's Kitchen, the place was still mostly empty of customers except for two of the early morning regulars who didn't bother looking up.
"Nipote!" Uncle Joe greeted me as I walked in. He was an elderly man with a mop of white hair and a bushy white mustache. His face was kind and wrinkled from laughter. "You're almost late."
"Buon pomeriggio," I replied, grinning. "Una stregone non è mai in ritardo, zio Beppe. Né in anticipo. Arriva precisamente quando intende farlo."
"Your pronunciation is improving," he said with a laugh, ruffling my hair. "But you're still too skinny! Come, sit. Eat something."
My grin widened and I quickly made my way to my customary seat near the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later, placing a large bowl of Pasta alla Norma in front of me. It looked and smelled amazing, and my stomach growled loudly. The first bite was bliss! The eggplant, sliced thin and roasted, was tender and not at all bitter and the crumbles of ricotta salata brought some needed saltiness to the sweetness of the tomato sauce. Before I knew it, the bowl was empty and a second bowl replaced the first, which I made equally quick work of.
"How you stay so skinny with an appetite like that, I will never know Nipote," uncle Joe laughed.
"Who knows?" I shrugged, taking my used dishes into the kitchen to wash up. Truthfully, I did know. I've always been short for my age and nearly rail thin owing to the strain of my power on my metabolism. Yeah, I was born with a super power. Stop laughing, it's true! Okay, maybe "super power" is too generous, but I can create and control fire with a thought.
I discovered this talent shortly after running away from home. It wasn't much at first, just some sparks. But combined with some dry material as fuel it meant I wouldn't freeze to death in the freezing cold winters of the North East. Of course fire needs fuel, and so does the body. Finding food while living on the streets is tough, but thanks to Uncle Joe, I get by.
"Nipote?" Uncle Joe's voice cut through my thoughts, bringing me back to focus.
"Sorry," I said, feeling my cheeks growing warmer while inwardly cursing my A.D.H.D. brain. "What did you say?"
He wagged his finger at me with a gentle admonishment, clicking his tongue before chuckling a little, "I said I'm putting your dish on today's lunch special, so you're going to be extra busy. Think you can handle it?"
Russo's Kitchen was a bit different from any other restaurant in that there was no menu to order from. Instead, the meals were set up as lunch or dinner specials, with the early hour customers being served the previous day's leftovers - which given that it was Italian food just meant it tasted even better.
"You got it!" I said, grinning. 'My dish', as he put it, was a creamy mushroom risotto with oven-baked fresh herb chicken.
"Buon! I'll leave you to it, stregone della cucina."
"Get out of my kitchen, old man," I laughed, throwing a rag at his back as he left, also laughing.
Grabbing up the fallen rag, I checked the clock over the door and saw it was already a quarter past eleven. No time to waste, then. Prep time for the risotto would take me fifteen minutes, at least, and cooking would fill out the last thirty. On top of that I also had to prep and then cook the chicken. Luckily, baking the chicken would be mostly hands-off once it got in the oven.
"Ride bene chi ride ultimo," I told myself, grabbing a nearby apron and hair net and got to work.
I had to keep telling myself to focus on the task at hand and not let myself get distracted. Easier said than done when your ten-year-old hyperactive A.D.H.D. mind is surrounded by all sorts of external stimulation. But this was the first time uncle Joe had turned the kitchen over to me entirely, and I was determined not to somehow screw it all up. Somehow, I managed to get through the hour with a finished product to show for my no doubt Herculean efforts.
"Order up," uncle Joe's voice rang from the front. "Two lunch specials."
And so it went, our roles reversed for the first time with him calling the orders back and me filling them. When all was said and done and the lunch rush had ended, I was exhausted but happy. My dish had been a success.
"Great work, Nipote," uncle Joe grinned. "Take a seat for a couple minutes and catch your breath."
"As if I could sit still?" I laughed, taking a seat as instructed while bouncing my leg and causing him to roll his eyes.
"Then it's a good thing I didn't tell you to sit still," he quipped. "Here's your study packet - don't make that face at me," he said when I frowned. "Here's your study packet for today. It's just revision, so you'll do fine. I need to prepare for the dinner plate, so you do that and I'll finish washing up."
I looked at the work packet and slumped in my seat, my bouncing leg coming to a rest. It was math. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful he cared enough to work with me on this stuff, but it was just so boring! As if reading my mood, his expression softened.
"If you finish it all up before the next rush, I'll give you an extra serving of desert. I made a tiramisu just before you showed up, so it will be ready in time."
That got my attention, as he knew it would. Today was officially awesome! I grabbed a pencil and got to work, ignoring his chuckling at my sudden interest in the math packet in front of me. Eating while I worked, I managed to set the pencil down just as the bell over the front door rang signalling the first customer of the dinner rush. Setting down the pencil, i quickly made my way to the front to greet them.
"Hey, Herman," I said, seeing it was one of our regulars. He was an athletic looking middle aged guy with salt and pepper hair. He gave me a half-wave without looking up from his phone as he made his way to his usual seat. "Dinner tonight is pesto pasta with chicken."
"Sounds great," he said, finally putting the phone away. "Better make it two orders, though. My little sister will be joining me tonight. She should be in shortly."
"You got it," I said with a grin before calling back; "Two orders, uncle Joe!"
Just then, the bell over the door rang again and a girl about my age walked in wearing a silver jacket and black leggings. She had a smooth, pale complexion like moonlight on fresh snow with long, black hair tied back in a braided ponytail. In a word, she was gorgeous! She caught me staring and regarded me back with a cool indifference before making her way to where Herman was sitting. She was his little sister? She could have been his daughter! I shook my head and quickly and made my way over to get their drink orders.
"San Pellegrino for me," Herman said. "Orange."
"I shall have the house wine," the girl said, pointedly not looking at me.
"Um..." I hesitated, looking back at Herman.
"Make that two Pellegrin- oof," he said, ruffling his sister's hair and getting jabbed in the stomach by her elbow for his effort. "Why do you gotta be like that, Artie?"
"Do not call me by that juvenile moniker," she hissed, and the lighting in the restaurant made it look like her eyes glowed. I left the bickering siblings to grab their drinks as uncle Joe placed the plates at the window.
I dropped off the bottles of orange soda before heading back to grab their dinner. I had just made it back to their table when one of my shoe laces came untied, causing me to trip. The first plate landed on the table, sliding perfectly in front of Herman. The second plate went high and then came crashing down on his little sister's head.
I stared mortified up from the floor as the girl called Artie glared down at me, chunks of green sauce coated pasta dropping from her dark hair. Her beautiful face fixed with righteous fury. Her eyes were definitely glowing! After what felt like an eternity, my brain finally caught up to the rest of me and I quickly got to my feet, rushing through the kitchen to the alley in back. I barely registered the door slamming behind me as I dislodged the box holding it open.
It had snowed at some point between my arrival at the restaurant and now. A thin layer of gray frost crunched underfoot as I made my way to hide behind the dumpster. A few minutes passed before the door reopened, light flooding the alley once more. The sound of even, heavy footsteps echoed in my head as someone approached my hiding spot.
"Nipote?" I looked up, tears stinging my eyes, to see uncle Joe looking at me with concern. "Is everything okay?"
"No," I said, miserably. "I'm trash."
"I heard from Herman what happened," he said, chuckling. "I'm just sad I missed it."
"I ruined their meal!" I wanted to shout, but my voice only came out as a rasp.
"It's fine, Nipote," he said, kindly. "Herman seemed fine to just laugh it off, and his sister is honestly no worse for wear. It was a good thing you missed her, I must say."
"Wh-what?" I asked, confused.
"I fixed her a new plate, and added a desert for the both of them free of charge," he said, obviously proud to have smoothed things over so well with one of his regulars. "It's fine. Now, take a moment to collect yourself, then come on back inside. Just be sure to wash up before heading back to the dining room."
He stepped back inside, making sure to prop the door open with the box once more. I sat there in confusion. I know what I had seen, and I had definitely covered that poor, pretty girl in her dinner. Could I have been mistaken? It wouldn't be the first time I saw something wrong. Even if I hadn't covered her in her food, I had still made an absolute fool of myself by running away after tripping.
I groaned, allowing my head to hit the brick wall behind me. Even if she didn't hate me before, there was no way she'd even want to see me now. Why was it so hard to interact with people my age? Why did I even care? I stayed sitting for a few more minutes until the evening chill started to settle in and make me uncomfortable. Crawling back out of my hiding space, I glanced about to make sure nobody else was around before igniting the fire in my hands to warm myself quickly.
The crunch of frost underfoot was the only warning I had to put out my fire before I was caught. I thought the alley was clear! Turning, I saw the form of a large, black dog stepping toward me. It's muzzle curled in a dangerous snarl as it growled low and deep.