Chapter 63

Annabeth Makes a Kid Cry

"I think that I'll stay standing."

The atmosphere was heavy, my muscles tense, as I waited, ready, watching for the next move from the goddess that had trapped us in my room. She considered me before shrugging.

"Very well," she said.

Nothing else. Silence fell, and I fought the urge to fidget.

My first experience with Hecate came before I ever stepped foot in California. Down in the Labyrinth she'd spoken to me, urging me to make a choice: leave innocent Kallikantzaroi to die, or try and protect them. Torches she provided had saved us back then, leading us out of the Labyrinth when Luke's strategy fell apart, but I'd never understood what she got out of helping in the first place. Luke called her unpredictable, and everything I'd seen since only backed him up.

"Are you going to ask why I'm here?"

I forced a smile. "I figure you're going to tell me either way."

"You're a rude one."

"Says the goddess of breaking and entering."

"I go where I please."

"Apparently."

The goddess paused, and for a second I wondered if I'd pushed things too far. But she only waved her hand. "Enough chatting. We shall get down to business."

"See? I knew you'd tell me."

"I am going to be your patron," she said, ignoring me.

Now that made me frown. "You mean you're offering to be our patron."

"I meant what I said. No other offer can compare to mine. Unless… do not tell me you're considering that braggart Nike's words? She will disappoint you. Her powers are but parlor tricks in the face of my spells."

"You never know," I said, "maybe we'll go with Marlon the satyr. He seemed like the kind of guy to throw in a Whole Foods gift card if we made him happy."

"This is not the time for your jokes. Anything Nike has told you is a lie, and any promises she has made are hollow. You have only one chance at winning. That chance is me."

"You seem desperate," I said.

"If you do not make your choice now, you will regret it for the rest of your days."

She was pressing me hard. Too hard. I didn't trust it, and I liked it even less. There had to be some kind of trick. It was the only reason for her to care so badly.

"For all you insult her, you sure talk a lot like Nike," I said. "You can wait like her, too. Maybe we'll choose you. But I'm not deciding without my partner, and definitely not because someone trapped and threatened me.

Hecate stared. I kept a close watch on her hands, in case she started throwing around fireballs or disintegration beams, however it was that a goddess of magic fought.

"I knew that wouldn't work," she said finally, "but I had to confirm it."

"Hold on. Confirm what?"

Hecate's black eyes glittered. "My assessment of you. Threats have no effect, perhaps even counterproductive. Bribes, on the other hand." She tilted her head. "What is it, I wonder? What is Kronos offering to keep you leashed?"

Anger surged through my body like blood. "That's none of your business."

My bronze fingers groaned as they pressed into my palm. The room shook, as if two hands were squeezing it from the outside.

"Very well," Hecate accepted, casting a curious eye at the trembling ceiling. "That doesn't change that you can be bought. What do you desire, trinkets?" She held out her hands, palms up, and clouds of mist condensed above them. The mist distilled into metal shapes that glowed bronze in the room's light. Andi's kitchenware. "I can make any number of these and others far greater, you know."

"How do you have those?" I demanded.

"I made them myself," Hecate said, not quite answering. "Payment to an Androktasiai a few centuries back for disposing of rabble that burned one of my daughters. Imagine my surprise when I found them laying in your room, looking exactly as they had when I saw them last."

Daedalus's warnings rushed back to me. Kate disappeared like magic, he'd said, but he had no idea how right he was.

"It was you," I said. "It was you the whole time."

Hecate smirked. As I watched, her body shrunk down, her hair shortening and lightening. Her black dress morphed into jeans and a t-shirt. She wore a red name tag that read HELLO, MY NAME IS: HEKATE.

"This was the original spelling," Hecate explained. "The 'c' came from the Romans. And just in case this hasn't spelled things out enough…"

She drew a finger over the nametag in a straight line, crossing out the first two letters. I stared at what was left.

HELLO, MY NAME IS: KATE.

One mystery solved. I should've been jumping for joy, right? Maybe I would've been, if one answer didn't raise a dozen new questions.

"Why'd you do it?"

I didn't sound as confrontational as I thought I might. Mostly, I was confused. What did one of the strongest minor goddesses have to gain from playing house with the Bronze Regiment?

"To get an idea of your character," Hecate said. "Surprisingly, you matter."

"Gee, thanks. Are you the goddess of greeting cards now, too?"

"For all your—" she considered me with a frown "—unsavory qualities, you might make a choice in the future that will decide the fate of the world. I am not Janus. Usually, I believe choices should be left to the individual, without stooping to involve myself directly. This seemed too large for those methods."

"Well," I said after a minute, "now you've seen me. What do you think?"

Even as the rest of her disguise remained, Hecate's eyes flashed back to pure black. "Dangerous," she said. "You might well be the most dangerous mortal I have ever met."

"I get the feeling you aren't talking about my swordplay here."

"You would tear the world apart for those you care about. In many, that is considered laudable. But most are not in a position where they could follow through. You wouldn't hesitate if they were at stake— your friends, your family. It makes you unpredictable. I find that terrifying."

Unpredictable. Coeus thought so, at least. It was why he was helping me stay alive. Was that such a bad thing, though? I guess it depended on perspective. Coeus loved it. But Hecate wanted to feel in control, and I was awful for that.

Unfortunately for her, I didn't care. I wasn't going to apologize for being who I was.

"It would be so much easier if you were like your friend Luke," Hecate said. "His hatred of the gods is so simple. His choices are always so straightforward."

"You know Luke?"

It made sense. They were both fighting for the Titans, technically. Luke even mentioned that they had met, although he hadn't sounded happy about the memory.

"I helped him make a choice," Hecate said. "It was simple curiosity. Yet, he seems to blame me for his own decision back then."

"What was the choice?"

Hecate leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "If I tell you, will you accept my patronage?"

I blinked. With everything else, it was easy to forget what this conversation had started about.

"I will take your silence as a refusal. If nothing else, I suppose you maintain your unpredictability." She rose, stepping gracefully off my bed. "I wouldn't call this course of action wise, but I would describe it as in-character."

"I just have one more question," I said. "No matter how much I think about it, I can't figure this out. Why disguise yourself as Ariadne?"

"I see you've been talking with your teacher." The rest of her 'Kate' disguise fell away, until she was towering over me at her true height. "To put it simply, I did it because any good choice needs two options."

"Wow, that clears everything up."

She raised one thin dark eyebrow. "It should. Your teacher will have his own choice to make. I was only giving him a push, so that when the time comes he won't ignore his options. He is a stubborn one."

"Your concern makes me feel warm and bubbly inside," I said, "but I think he'll be fine without it."

It was a reckless thing to say. As a general rule of thumb, you don't want goddesses as enemies, especially powerful ones that are running the tournament your life depends on. I couldn't help it, though. Daedalus's life wasn't some game to be toyed with.

Hecate didn't seem offended at least. She smiled like I'd told a clever joke.

"You speak as if I'm not doing the same with you," she said.

I froze. My mind raced, and once I'd thought for a second it all seemed so obvious.

"It was you," I said. "You're the one that drove Annabeth to me. That's why Agon didn't mention the Titans— you told him not to. You switched the teams around, putting Kelli and Mark into our bracket. It was all you."

Hecate sniffed imperiously. "I could care less about those little tournament groupings. Any suspicious changes there were Nike's work, and Nike's only. The rest, though, were mine."

"But you're supposed to be on the Titan's side! What could you get out of letting Annabeth and I get close?"

Hecate's form began to glow with inner light. A certain disappointed look took root in her eyes, the same way teachers used to look at me whenever I inevitably got a question wrong.

"I've answered that already," she said. "Every choice needs two options. Think well on that… or else you may lose your chance to choose at all."

"Wait, what does that mean—"

Too late. I cut off, shielding my eyes as the glow grew into something blinding. The goddess assumed her true form, and when I looked back, I was alone. I tried the door handle and it turned smoothly. The goddess Hecate had gone.

I had been tired when I went into the room. After Daedalus's news and the surprise call from a goddess, I came out feeling like I'd stayed up for a week straight before running a marathon at the end. I didn't sit on the couch so much as slump onto its cushions.

The table from the patron meetings had disappeared, along with its chairs. Everything was back in place, just like it had been before. Hygeia worked fast.

Speaking of the goddess, she was still there, fussing over something by the TV. That might have surprised me, if I had the energy left to feel surprise.

"It'll only take a minute, huh?"

Annabeth was in the recliner with the footrest up. She didn't sound too angry, only a little peeved. I decided not to waste any time.

"Hecate has offered to be our patron."

"Just now?" Annabeth asked.

I nodded. "It was more of a demand than an offer. She just appeared on my bed and laid out her plan. Locked me inside and everything."

"Horribly improper," Hygeia said. She paused as she spoke, and I spotted what she'd been doing— wiping off the TV stand stroke-by-stroke with a duster, like any regular old mortal. "There are proper rules to all this. Agon set them himself. And yet, Hecate throws them utterly out the window to do as she wants. How typical."

"Is the offer still valid?" Annabeth asked.

"If it were anyone else, I would say no. But this is Hecate. Agon adores her." Hygeia frowned, then returned to cleaning. "On second thought, that isn't quite right. He needs her."

"The teleporting," I said, remembering how we'd gotten to the venues. "And bringing in sacrifices, navigating the Labyrinth, setting up events…"

"Did you know she's more powerful than him?" Hygeia said. "Agon is the host, the leader, but make no mistake. It's the three behind him that keep things running. You'll have to choose between them soon. Neither Hecate nor Nike enjoy being made to wait."

"Only Hecate and Nike?" Annabeth asked. "What about the rest of the offers?"

"Irrelevant. They lack the resources to compete with those two. You'd only be putting yourselves at a disadvantage."

In the quiet after those words, you could hear the duster against the table. Underneath, you could make out a light squeaking. Hygeia was pressing so hard that the plastic handle was on the verge of snapping.

"Only a disadvantage," I said. "So it isn't impossible."

The goddess stopped. Everybody looked at me.

"What are you saying?" Hygeia asked.

"If it only gives us a worse chance of winning, we don't have to pick Nike or Hecate. Last time we stopped halfway through to help the people we were competing against, and we still passed. Bad odds aren't enough to stop us."

"You're being silly," Hygeia said. "You're here to win. Why jeopardize that?"

"No, he has a point."

Annabeth was squeezing the arms of her recliner. I would say you could see that she was thinking, but this was Annabeth we're talking about. She was always thinking.

"If we choose Nike, Hecate will turn on us. If we choose Hecate, it will be the opposite."

"And if you choose neither, both will hate you," Hygeia said.

But Annabeth shook her head.

"Not to this extent," she explained. "Those two have an awful rivalry. It's obvious. To them, the worst thing would be a team that they picked choosing their rival. If we choose neither, then at worst they'll mess with us in the times that they aren't directly attacking the other's team. We can handle that much."

Hygeia pursed her lips. "You are crazy," she decided, "and I can't tell if it's overconfidence, or something else." She sighed. "Well? If not those two, then who will you pick? Kymopleia could muster some decent mounts. Maybe a nymph?"

Annabeth glanced at me as if asking permission for something. Or maybe she was trying to say sorry? Nonverbal communication is hard. That's why we use words, even dyslexic kids like me who can barely spell their own name.

Turning back to Hygeia, Annabeth knocked the recliner's footrest down with a thump, rising to her feet.

"I was thinking you," she said.

"Me?" Hygeia's duster hit the ground. She held her hand up, pointing at her chest as her mouth hung open. "Me?"

"You," Annabeth confirmed. "I'm not joking about this."

Hygeia's mouth moved a couple of times without managing any sound. Finally, she said, "I haven't even made an offer!"

"But I think you wanted to," Annabeth said. "You didn't need to be here still. Dusting, with a tool? You're the goddess of cleaning. If you wanted it to be, that job could have been finished with a look. But you needed an excuse to stick around, hopefully long enough for you to work up the courage you needed."

"I'm a goddess," Hygeia said. "I don't need courage to do anything."

I thought that was a strange part to get hung up on, but Annabeth didn't miss a beat.

"Of course you needed courage," she said. "The other gods treat you like you're a servant. Don't think I've missed that. To them, you're nothing but a tool. It wouldn't take long for those doubts to seep in. 'Am I good enough?' 'Are my powers grand at all?' 'Am I really a goddess?'"

Hygeia flinched in time with the questions, backing away until her back touched the wall. She looked small and scared. Then I realized she really was shrinking, from an adult woman down to an adolescent girl, then beyond. Still Annabeth wasn't done.

"You try to compensate, to show the arrogance other gods do, but it never feels right for you, does it?" Annabeth slowly advanced on the shrinking goddess. "Whenever you brag, doubt seeps in. You put yourself down— call yourself 'housekeeper' more than any of the others, just so it will stop hurting, and yet it never does."

"Stop!" Hygeia said, her voice squeaky and prepubescent. "You're a mortal girl! A demigod! What do you know?"

"I could be wrong." Annabeth stopped just in front of her. "If I am, tell me. Tell me that I'm wrong."

But the only thing Hygeia could say was, "What do you want?"

As the tension reached a crescendo, Annabeth smiled. It was like a spell had snapped. She knelt down, holding out a hand for Hygeia to shake.

"I'd like to win," she said, "and think I'd like to do it with you. So I guess, what I'd like right now is a patronage offer. Can you do that?"

I watched, hypnotized, as Hygeia took the hand.

That was the first time I ever saw a goddess cry. It wasn't until later, much later, that I decided for certain they had been tears of joy.

"I have nothing to give," Hygeia said. "I hope you're aware."

It had taken nearly half an hour for her to collect herself. The calmer she got the older she grew, but at a point it stopped. Her current form looked about fourteen years old, with miniature versions of all her familiar features.

"I don't have temples, or sacred animals, or any grand blessings to bestow," she carried on. "All I've got is a throwaway line in the Hippocratic oath. Not sure how you plan to win a race with that."

"Don't worry," Annabeth assured her, "I've already thought it through. When we got here, you told us you could provide anything we needed, as long it didn't give an unfair advantage. That means you can reach the outside world, right? And now, giving us an advantage is your job."

The two had taken the couch while I moved to the recliner, Annabeth having shepherded Hygeia there while she was still crying. Seeing them sit side by side, it was strange to realize they looked nearly the same age. Almost as strange as how Hygeia's personality had done a complete 180. All traces of snooty superiority had vanished like one of Hecate's Mist tricks.

"I can bring things…" Hygeia said. "What were you thinking?"

Annabeth pulled a pen and paper from her pockets, quickly scribbling something before handing it over to Hygeia.

"There's a supply of top-quality wood at that location," she said. "More than enough for a two-person chariot. If you can bring that, and get us some woodworking tools, that'll be enough."

"And mounts?"

"Leave that to me," I said. My hand involuntarily rubbed the sun charm in my pocket, and I added, "Maybe bring some extra sugar cubes, though. For bargaining power."

Hygeia's brow creased. "And this will be enough to compete with Nike and Hecate?"

"Depends," I admitted.

"On what?"

"How much sugar we offer."

"Where in the world did this come from?" I asked, bending a piece of plywood in my hands.

It didn't even feel like wood. Some pieces bent as easily as licorice, while others were harder than iron. I figured any carpenter would offer his life savings just for the chance to sniff wood like this, and with Hygeia's help Annabeth had summoned an entire pile in hours.

Annabeth herself was crouched at the other end of the pile that was now dominating our living room. A table had been set up with saws, hammers and nails, along with other bladed tools I couldn't recognize, while the couch had disappeared to make room for all the woodworking equipment.

"It's a long story," she said.

"Please tell me you didn't sacrifice the life blood of any innocent nymphs for this."

"Really? That's the first place your mind goes?"

"It's really good wood," I pointed out.

She picked a piece up, turned it over twice, then set it back and scribbled something on a set of homemade blueprints.

"They consented beforehand," she said.

"Who did?"

"The nymphs."

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

She looked up, shrugging. "Like I said. Long story."

"Well, we've got a week of construction ahead of us before the next task starts. If there's ever a time for talking, it's now."

She worked for another minute in silence, taking inventory and noting measurements. Finally she said, "How much do you know about what happened after you left?"

"I saw Thalia's last stand in a dream."

Annabeth nodded like that didn't surprise her. "We weren't sure any of us were going to make it. But in the end, Luke and I arrived at Camp. And so did Thalia, in a way. Her tree was like a guardian spirit to there. Monsters always struggled to make it inside, but from then on it was impossible for them."

It was hard to imagine— my friend in a half-alive limbo, shedding pine needles in the Winter and giving shade every Summer. Not that I doubted it was true. I just struggled to picture it.

"No matter what chaos hit the Camp, Thalia's tree was always there," Annabeth said. "I could look up at the hill and see it. Whatever worries I had, it was there. Until one morning, we woke up to black pine needles and putrid sap."

"Disease?" I said. "No, that's impossible. Zeus would never allow it. But that means… poison?"

It felt like someone had decked me in the gut with one of the two-by-fours. I couldn't ignore an image of Luke creeping up in the night like a cartoon villain, poison in hand. Would he have cut a gash in the bark, or did he only have to pour it over the roots to risk the life of his oldest friend?

Most likely he was nowhere near New York when the tree was poisoned. But that almost made it worse. I knew he was the one who gave the order; after going that far, he didn't even have the guts to do it himself?

"Poison," Annabeth confirmed. "Deadly, deadly poison. The tree wouldn't die, though, unless we hesitated. We would get exactly one chance to save it."

"How did you know? He left a note?"

"Pinned to the trunk with an old knife. And it was true. Just as we were losing hope, a miracle happened. After centuries missing, the Golden Fleece appeared, as if Jason's prize was an unexpected Amazon delivery. One morning it just showed up, glittering on the hill's damp grass. Of course, everybody assumed it was a trick."

"We went to the nymphs that live in the Camp's forest, and they agreed to test the Fleece. They're far more organized now than they used to be, but this was probably because they wanted to as much as any idea of duty— the fleece is like candy to nature sprits. So we ran tests. After they'd held it in their branches, we cut off parts of their trees and tested the wood. The Fleece had definitely changed it, but only in good ways. It was stronger, more durable, more flexible than anything we'd ever seen before."

"Strong, durable, and flexible," I said, staring down. "Huh. Sounds familiar."

"That's right," Annabeth said. "That's what we're using. The results of those tests."

She really hadn't been joking about those nymphs, or about their consent. Huh. The more you knew.

"After the tests… What else could we do? We put it on Thalia's tree. We knew there was an ulterior motive, but when the alternative was letting the tree die, letting her die… That was never an option. But I guess none of us counted on just how potent the healing magic really was, until one morning a disoriented girl peeled out of the tree. And then I knew what the Titans had been playing for the whole time."

"A new prophecy candidate."

"Exactly."

"But would Thalia really choose the Titans over the Gods?"

"They seem to think she might," Annabeth said.

I wanted to ask what she thought, and I wonder if she sensed that, because before I could she told me to saw a piece of wood into halves. First I needed to figure out which piece, then I needed to decipher how to use the saw, and before I knew it I was focused on work, and the moment had passed.

I didn't wonder for a second whether that had been intentional. What I did wonder, was what answer Annabeth was scared to say out loud.

Wet sandpaper was smothering my nose. I snorted, waking up with a jerk.

"Wha—huh?" I groaned. "Whuzzit?"

I blinked my bleary eyes, and two dark circles swam into focus.

They weren't eyes. Two nostrils stared back at me, fitted into the end of a long white muzzle.

Praises, lord! a voice cried. Even when gone, you still find a way to bring us sugar!

Praises! a chorus of voices repeated. Praises!

It seemed, while I slept, my room had decided to take on a new life as a stables. Four pegasi filled the room, stuffing it to bursting.

"Hygeia?" I said.

"Yes?"

At the question, the goddess appeared from between the horses looking quizzical, still in the adolescent form that had become her new normal.

"As happy as I am that you found them, I don't think my room is the proper place for these guys."

We can be bedroom horses, the Pegasus that woke me up assured me. We are very well-behaved. When sugar is on the line.

"I'm sure you are," I told him. "But it's about space, see?" I turned to Hygeia. "Please?"

"I'll prepare a space," she said. Then, with a shoeing motion, she gestured the Pegasi back to the living room. "Leave for now. Whoever is fastest gets a carrot!"

The Pegasi didn't waste time on words, neighing as they galloped clumsily out of the cramped room. The door grew when they reached it, shifting from human-shaped to horse-shaped. Only one of the four didn't move, and I felt myself freeze.

"You came," I said.

Surprised?

The towering black Pegasus spoke with a thick New York accent. Of all the Pegasi the Titans laid claim to, he was the outlier, and not just because he was the biggest and fastest. Where the others could be bought with a few snacks, this one had nearly taken my fingers off the first time I tried feeding him. I hardly ever heard him speak, except in insults and threats when me or anybody else refused to set him free. He was the only Pegasus I had been sure wouldn't come, and now he was standing in front of me.

"I just didn't expect your help," I said.

He whinnied. Life's full of things you don't expect. Me personally? I never expected to get shoved in a cage while I slept and be forced to fly around monsters and a bunch of Olympian wannabes, but this is how we've ended up. I'm getting this outta the way now, though. I'm not like those other dimwits. You ain't buying me with snacks. If you want the help of these beautiful wings, you're setting me free when this is all over.

I didn't know who was actually in charge of the Othrys stables, but I figured whoever they were it was an enemy I could afford to make. Luke had told me to use any methods I needed.

"Deal," I said. "And if you ever get captured again, I'll even help you escape."

Now we're talking! he exclaimed. You better hold that chariot tight, or you'll fly straight off the way it'll be moving! And when that happens, just remember, you've got Blackjack to thank for it.

He cantered out of the room, head held high with pride. We watched him go, me and Hygeia, and when he passed through the door it reverted to its original non-horse shape.

"I will make sure they get situated," Hygeia said. "That's my specialty, after all."

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate it."

I thought she would follow the horses out and get right on that, but she stayed where she was. Eventually, a frown worked its way onto her face.

"About my behavior…"

I gave her time to go on, and her frown became a grimace.

"When we met, I was slightly rude. Well, quite rude, actually. I just wanted to say that while I do not regret my actions at the time… Or, though the circumstances were complicated… No, that isn't right either." She groaned. "Blast it. This is difficult. I believe what I'm trying to say is, I apologize. I treated you poorly."

"You're… saying sorry?" I rubbed my eyes again, and barely held back from pinching my arm. Maybe I was still dreaming.

"Is that so ridiculous?" Hygeia asked, a touch defensively.

"You're a goddess," I said. "Goddesses do not — under any circumstances — apologize. They'd sooner turn you into an animal than admit they did something wrong."

"I believe we've already established what a failure of a goddess I am."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing!" I said. "Just because I've never seen another goddess do it, doesn't make you worse than them. It makes you better."

"Truly?"

I gave a thumbs up to show I meant what I said, and Hygeia turned away.

"Well," she said, "I'm glad we cleared that up. And got it over with. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have a stable to create."

She darted from the room. As quick as she did it, though, she couldn't quite escape in time to hide the beaming smile that appeared on her face.

Building a chariot was a learning experience. Also a humbling one. Very humbling.

When you see pictures, they're all so neatly assembled that you expect the pieces to snap together like legos. Spoiler: that isn't how it really works. If I ever saw another tape measure again it would be too soon. And let me tell you, needing to be precise down to the fraction of an inch really takes all the fun out of using a saw, which is depressing because saws are naturally cool.

Still, we somehow managed. Annabeth had picked up a few things from the Hephaestus kids at camp, and her designs were top-notch. As for me, there was no way I could've grown up in a workshop without learning anything. Messily, clumsily, we got there. And when the Chariot finally started taking shape, I couldn't shake the feeling it wouldn't lose against any of the others in the tournament.

All that was left was what color to paint it. Annabeth said it should be gray, honoring her mother. I said it should be blue, because blue is better than gray. We argued for so long that in the end we decided to split things half and half. So on the morning of the last day we each had a brush and a paint pot, working on our opposite sides.

"I can't believe you picked gray," I said.

"Percy, we are not having this conversation again."

"I mean, you had every color available, and you went with the color of pigeons and concrete."

"And iron, and owls," she said. "Symbols of my mother. I don't know why you're complaining, when you picked blue for your father."

"I picked blue because blue is the best color," I said. "If a fossil who hides out on the ocean floor likes it too, that just means he has taste, not that the color is his."

Painting is surprisingly calming. Focusing on the rhythmic brush strokes, I managed to let only a little bit of the heat in my chest leak into my voice.

"What did your father do for you to hate him so much?" Annabeth asked.

"It's what he didn't do that's the problem."

Even with a chariot in between us, I could tell Annabeth was curious. Children of Athena and that awful thirst for knowledge of theirs.

So, before she could ask, I decided to tell her and didn't let myself hesitate. I described my entire seventh birthday.

It had been years since the last time I told the story. The only time I did was with Daedalus, around the time he picked me up, and he'd already known the parts he'd seen.

Once I'd decided, though, I wasn't going to do things halfway. I told her everything— how I woke up, the breakfast I'd had, the choice between movies. I described meeting a Harpy as a young kid who still thought that monsters stayed inside his storybooks. And I told her about my mom. From the littlest details I could remember, the way she would listen to you and the natural twinkle in her eyes, to her life before me, her rotten luck and the way she'd always dreamed of writing a book.

When I was done, Annabeth didn't say she was sorry, which I was glad for. It's not like it was her fault, and isn't like 'I'm sorry that happened to you' has made anybody feel better, ever. She just took a deep breath and let it out slowly, which was somehow a really great way of saying 'Wow, that sure is screwed up!'.

"I can't believe you didn't hate Thalia back then," she said.

"I might've resented her a little bit when I heard who her dad was, but I tried to hide it. That didn't last. It isn't her fault her dad is a divine douchebag."

"That takes a lot of self-awareness."

I definitely wasn't blushing. "C'mon, any decent person would be like that."

"Exactly," Annabeth said. "Those are rare."

Just as we were falling back into our work, she suddenly said, "Can you promise not to punch me in the face if I say something right now?"

"That's a scary request," I pointed out.

"It isn't anything bad, I swear, it just sounds bad. I think… I might be jealous of you."

"You wish your mom died in front of you?"

"No!" Annabeth said. "Or, maybe sometimes? But not Athena. It's… complicated. My dad remarried when I was little, and ever since it was like he was shoving me away. I was the weird girl, the one screaming about spiders and insisting that it wasn't her fault that gas tank exploded, even though she was the only one near it and there definitely weren't any women with snakes for legs around."

"Did they hate you?"

"I don't know. But they definitely didn't love me, and that was enough. I got sick of it all, the looks and the whispers. So I ran away. And then I found a new family, even if it was only for a little while, before I lost that one too."

"Luke was still there," I said, but it sounded weak, even to me.

"Thalia wasn't," she said. "Not really. And neither were you."

"...I count?"

I knew those times meant a lot to me, but they were the only friends I made for six years of my life. We were together for one month. I hadn't even been certain she would remember me clearly, after years at Camp around dozens more kids like us.

I heard Annabeth's brush stop moving. "Seriously? Did you really just ask—" She cut herself off with a heavy, forceful sigh. "Of course you did. That's just like you. I really should be used to it, after you did the same thing in the Labyrinth."

"What thing?" I asked.

She stood up, her hands on her hips, just so she could look me in the eyes as she said, "You forget that people care about more than what you can do for them. They care about you."

When she said it, I couldn't help hearing that inside of that 'they' was her, speaking this from experience.

"Oh," I said.

"Just… Try not to forget it again."

She ducked behind the chariot again, sort of abruptly, like she was taking cover from something. I heard her paintbrush moving again, and realized that in the heat of the moment I had stopped painting too.

"You haven't ever thought about going back?"

"Going back to where?" she asked.

"To your dad."

"Not once. I gave plenty of chances. He showed how much he cares. Camp Half-Blood is my home, no matter how much it changes."

"I'm not saying you have to live with him again. But you could go for a visit or something, just to see."

"No, I couldn't." Annabeth seemed to realize I was going to keep arguing, and quickly clarified. "That isn't just me being stubborn. He kept sending letters, and after a while I made the mistake of thinking he was serious. I went back and didn't make it a week. Nothing had changed. Soon after, he moved— to San Francisco of all places, the monster capital of the world. I'm not risking my life for the chance to get ignored a third time."

I didn't push any more. If that's how she saw things, she was probably right. I knew firsthand how awful step-parents could be. I'd only tried as hard as I did because, deep down, the idea of losing a parent while they were still alive made my heart ache.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a trembling in the walls. Something deep and low like a jet engine coursed through the room, faint enough that I thought I might have imagined it.

But I hadn't, and Annabeth immediately asked, "What was that?"

"Sounded like… a roar. A ridiculously loud roar."

I stared at our chariot, and I could tell Annabeth was doing the same. It really was nice. I still believed that. But it was hard not to see it in a new light.

"Think whatever that was is pulling an opponent's chariot?" I asked.

Annabeth didn't answer. Of course she didn't know.

"I really hope those Pegasi of yours aren't skittish," she said instead.

Either way, we'd find out soon. Tomorrow was the big day; the time for the second task had come.

(-)