Chapter Two: Kaleidoscopic Jackson
The massive dog snarled at me, shoulders hunched as if ready to charge. Desperately, I cast my mind back to the battered journal I had found years ago;
Hellhounds, known as the guard dogs of the Underworld, are generally considered "Bad News" for demigods. As these huge dogs have the ability to travel through shadows, the best thing to do is find some place well lit and hide out until it decides to leave. Do NOT engage at night.
Well, shit. The beast snarled and lunged at me, and I rolled out of the way of the incoming threat, hissing slightly as my skin came in contact with the wet ground. Did I mention I had an aversion to water? Yeah, fire and water don't mix. Go figure. Springing to my feet, my eyes darted to the open door to the restaurant, light from the kitchen flooding out into the darkened alley. As if reading my mind, the hellhound lunged forward, knocking the box away from the door and casting the alley into darkness once more. Double shit.
The kitchen door had no handle on the outside to prevent would-be thieves from breaking in through the back. Normally this wasn't an issue as uncle Joe had a heavy box he used to prop the door open to help circulate the air flow. Of course, with the door closed again, the only way I'd be getting back inside that way is if uncle Joe opened the door again. And that would mean uncle Joe or Herman or... Artie... would be in danger. Like hell I was going to let that happen if I could avoid it.
Time seemed to slow down as my body flooded with adrenaline. My senses came into sharp focus as the world narrowed to just me and the monster. I couldn't let anyone else get hurt - not if I could help it. Step one, get the monster's attention.
I grabbed an empty beer bottle that someone had previously discarded and threw it as hard as I could at the monstrous hound. The bottle shattered across the side of its head with a resounding crack, not seeming to hurt it in the slightest but littering the ground with broken glass. It turned back to face me and growled, fangs bared and dripping with foaming saliva. Okay, I have its attention, now what? Step two...
I turned and bolted further down the alley. A scrape of claws and crunch of glass indicated the beast was following me. I'd just have to apologize to uncle Joe later for leaving him alone. A part of me hoped I would get the chance.
I kept my eyes closed tight in fear as my feet carried me onward, the sound of blood pounding in my ears in tune with my racing heartbeat nearly drowned out the scrape of claws on the asphalt behind me. Nearly. It had been nearly twelve hours since the monster had first picked up my scent. Twelve hours since I had last had a moment's rest, and I was definitely feeling it. As a demigod, I'm more durable than the average person; but that doesn't mean I'm invulnerable. I still need to sleep. Exhaustion was winning out as I felt myself slowing.
I stopped running, taking a moment to lean against a wall and draw in a gasping, shuddering breath that set me to coughing. Ahead of me, ordinary people went about their ordinary business on the crowded street oblivious to me and my plight. Behind me I heard the low growl of the hungry predator. I had to keep moving. My legs trembled like jelly when I forced myself to stand again. I took one step, and then another.
The growling grew louder as the scrape of claws on asphalt grew closer. Looking back, I saw it. Pitch black even against the shadows of the alley, with two glowing embers for eyes and two rows of sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Sensing my weakness, the hellhound approached slowly, the hunt was over. So, this was how I would die? Gasping for breath while being eaten by a monster.
"No," I whispered.
A warm breeze blew through the alley carrying with it a scent of something both foreign and familiar. I set my jaw and pushed off the wall to stand on my own two feet, managing to remain firmly upright. I willed my hands to ignite, fire flickering harmlessly across my fingers. The hellhound's body tensed, crouching and snarling.
"No," I said, more firmly this time. "I'm not going down without a fight. You want this? Come and get it!"
I gathered the fire around my fingers into a condensed ball of flames, hurling them at the monster and missing as it vanished into it's own shadow only to reappear out of mine. I wheeled around, trying to keep the monster in my line of sight only to trip, my head slamming hard off the wall. Pain crashed through me as the world erupted into a kaleidoscope of grey-scales and bizarre colors. The alley around me was suddenly cast into sharp relief as everything became a uniform dull grey - as if someone had drawn a picture but forgotten to color it in. The hellhound by comparison, once pitch black, was now a strange, swirling cloudy purple color that trailed off it's body like evaporating fog. I took a moment to examine myself and my heart sped up. My arms looked like they were wreathed in fire. Deep golden red, and purple flames flickering just along the surface of my skin.
The hellhound growled, catching my attention as it turned into an indistinct cloud of smoke, passing behind me. I turned, blasting it in the face with my now golden red and purple fire, sending it tumbling away with a pained yelp. I wavered, slightly unsteady on my feet. Already, the hellhound was getting back to it's feet. I threw another concentrated blast of brilliant, golden red and purple fire at it before turning and running out of the alley. A few people shouted insults at me as I passed, but most of them ignored me. Outside the alley, the world was just as strangely black and white. Even the people around me lacked color - be it on their skin or their clothing. What was going on?
I looked back toward the alley, noting that the swirling purple hellhound was nowhere to be seen. Despite that, I still felt as if somebody, or something, was watching me. The warm breeze picked up again, the currents of air now visible as a pale green fog. A whisper in the back of my mind urged me to follow, and I didn't pause to consider questioning it.
Exhausted and stumbling, I followed the strange breeze through the colorless streets of the city passing 5th Avenue down East 57th and then up 6th. My feet felt like lead and my head pounded with every step as I entered Central Park. The green breeze swam around me, lending me strength again as if to reward my patience, and I noticed something else on the wind. Thin wisps of hot pink mist curling off vaguely North East.
Curious, and with newfound strength, I followed the new trail on the breeze and gasped out loud. There, standing on Gapstow Bridge, was a girl whose whole body was glowing in various shades and hues of hot pink. The only other sign of color in a flood of grey. My head throbbed painfully, and my vision blurred around the edges causing me to clamp my eyes shut. When I opened them, the world around me was back to normal. Blue skies and green trees. No more greys and whites.
I looked back at where I saw the Pink Girl. She was Latina, her wavy hair was light brown with some of it dyed pink, and she was wearing a red sleeveless-T and low rise baggy jeans. She seemed to be waiting for someone, glancing up at every approaching person or group. A group of small children ran hurriedly past her, laughing and splashing in the puddles. She smiled fondly at their antics and at the same time the clouds overhead parted, the sunlight seeming to give her a slight glow as if she was some Disney princess.
Pinkerbelle, as I decided she would be called, turned to watch them run by, and the sunlight glinted off a knife at her side. I realized with a start that it was bronze, not stainless mortal steel. The breeze picked up again, seeming to push me toward her. This time, I hesitated. I had a monster chasing me all night. Pinkerbelle had a knife that could kill monsters. It all seemed so... convenient.
My musing was interrupted by a familiar, low rumble of a growl behind me. Turning, I saw a pair of glowing red eyes glaring at me from the bushes. The hellhound, it seemed, had recovered and was ready for round two. Or was it round three? I looked back at Pinkerbelle, who had seemingly gone back to waiting. Was she waiting for me? Brought here by the same strange breeze? Either way, I needed that knife.
Mind made up, my pulse thundered in my ears with every beat of my heart as I forced myself to walk forward. Each step bringing me closer to the strange girl. A group of teenagers was approaching from the opposite direction. She turned to watch their approach, paying no mind at all to the knife hanging from her belt. I kept walking, willing myself to not rush. I reached her at the same time as the group of teenagers.
I had never stolen anything before, preferring to beg or scavenge scraps where I could, and I felt awful, but I had to keep moving. She paid me no attention as I passed by her, pulling the knife easily from its sheath and slipping it under my shirt as I went.
"Life and death," I reasoned to myself, trying to ease the knots forming in my stomach. If I could lead the monster away, I could kill it, then give her back the knife afterward and apologize. She would understand, I was sure of it!
One of the teenagers, a guy about Pinkerbelle's age, shrieked as the hellhound leapt from the bushes, ready to begin the chase again. Pinkerbelle and I both turned at the sound, seeing the approaching hellhound. The other teenagers began to run as fast as they could, shouting about wolves in the park. Lucky for the mortals, the hellhound ignored them. It had a tasty demigod in its sights, after all.
I expected Pink to turn and run as well, but instead she reached for the knife that was no longer at her side. Fear warred with fury in her eyes, her beautiful face twisting into a sneer that promised death. With practiced ease, she reached down and drew a second bronze knife from a concealed sheath on her left leg. The hellhound leapt at her, and she dodged. Spinning, she carried her momentum and drove the point of the blade between the monster's shoulders.
The hellhound reeled away with a pained yelp, turning to face the interloper, fangs bared. The girl held the knife left handed in a reverse grip, not breaking eye contact with the beast. Slowly they began to move in a rough circle like two predators sizing each other up, neither willing to let the other behind them. The hellhound charged suddenly, but the girl stepped to the right, easily dodging the attack while swinging her blade toward its exposed side in an arc that unfortunately went wide. They began circling again.
The hellhound's pace slowed, it's head tilting to the side as if confused by something. As the pair completed their second circuit, I noticed the girl's lips moving as if she was talking to the monster, but I was too far away to hear her voice. Whatever she was saying had gotten its attention, however, as the monster slowed to a stop. Its muscles seemed to relax slightly as it cocked its head at the strange pink-haired girl.
Suddenly, she lunged forward, sunlight glinting off the bronze knife. The monster tried to dodge, but was too slow. The girl brought the knife down into the back of the hellhound's neck, making the monster explode in a burst of golden dust that got everywhere except on the girl herself.
The same, strange warm breeze from before picked up, carrying most of the golden dust away. I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I had been holding, and the girl looked directly at me. Her blue eyes took in everything in an instant, from my disheveled appearance to the knife, her knife, held in a defensive position in front of my chest. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed.
"Hey!" She shouted, and I panicked.
I ran as fast as I could, paying no attention to where my feet were carrying me. The monster was dead. I should have felt relief, but instead I just felt sick. It was an incredibly lucky thing that she had a second weapon, or else she might have been seriously hurt or... I shook my head in an effort to stop that line of thought. She was fine. She had killed the monster. The girl unwittingly had saved my life, and I had stolen from her.
I stopped running, breathing heavily and looking around. A passing couple gave me an odd look, but kept walking by. The Pink Girl was nowhere to be seen, and the bronze knife seemed to grow heavy in my hand. The grip felt strange in my hand as I examined my ill-gotten treasure. It was beautifully crafted, that much was certain. Whoever made it had one hell of a rare talent.
The blade itself was double edged and ornately etched with a pattern of roses down the center of one side and doves on the other. Each side also had a set of initials etched in the center; R. J. The handle was wrapped in a sturdy, yet soft, black leather, and the pommel was shaped like a rose.
Despite the seeming ornamental nature of the blade, however, it also looked as if it had seen regular use. A scratch here, a knick there. Despite that, it still looked cared for. The sky darkened as a cloud passed by, blocking the sun momentarily. I resolved in that instant, swearing to myself, that I would see this blade returned to the Pink Girl.