Alabaster found Pax in Camp Othrys, hiding with the laundry bins. There were few places Axel couldn't smell his little brother out. This laundry room was one of them. A logical choice if Pax wanted to avoid being found. Alabaster almost forfeited his plan at the reek of towels soaked in demigod sweat and monster ooze—all cottony causalities from that morning's training session.
One blanket trembled in the far corner of the room. Judging from its lack of filth, Pax, fortunately, must have swiped it from a clean pile. The blanket went still when Alabaster stepped alongside of it.
He hoped he hadn't mistaken his friend for two demigods getting intimate. No. The sheet tucked tight enough to show Pax's form: his legs curled up and arms folded atop them, looking like the grumpiest B-rate ghost. Alabaster nudged dirty towels away with his foot and settled down beside the blanket.
Alabaster lifted the small paperback from his stack of two books. The cover had a few stains and was a little too dingy for Alabaster to have kept in a library if he was a librarian. He cracked it open. The coarseness of the pages felt wonderful, even if he didn't prefer the first page's sketch of a baby. At an utter, a reading rune glowed on his necklace, bringing the font to proper focus.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much," Alabaster read, "They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense."
The blanket ghost stopped shaking and sniffling. Alabaster paused in his oration, as though about to turn a page—a ridiculous notion. What book had a page turn after one short paragraph? He berated himself, forgetting the beautiful opening of, It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness… The best example of a necessary run-on sentence. Regardless of A Tale of Two Cities, Alabaster had paused here so Pax could comment.
"Is—is that Harry Potter?" Pax squeaked.
Instead of answering, Alabaster continued to read, past the turn of a page, until he came upon the sentence, "It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map." [footnote 1]
Alabaster hadn't meant to stop there. His breath choked. Sphinx, Lelly's late cat, had been able to read maps. A brilliant Mist form, she'd been able to do so much more than that: a utilitarian helper in the lab and a compassionate friend to his little sister.
For the first time since he, Pax, and Axel had almost been captured by Romans, Alabaster pressed a hand over his mouth. His eyes felt warm. Every time he'd let Lou Ellen cry in his arms, he'd kept focused on his hatred of the Romans and on their own undiscovered traitor. Why, now, with this stupid, juvenile book, did he find himself choking up over the loss? Over a cat that could read a map?
Pax misunderstood his silence as another page break. "You… You said you would only read me books for educational purposes. And, and that Harry Potter was a 'gross misrepresentation of magic and b-better as a study of plot holes,'" the words came out a rapid jumble of—presumably—snot and hiccups. They were a distracting relief to Alabaster.
"You wanted to read it. No one would read it to you. This is an apology, not for my unrequited feelings, but for the boarish delivery of my response. This is my attempt, over the next seven hours of reading, an hour per evening this week, to prove that nothing needs to change between us, that we can still be friends."
The sheet ghost crept closer. "Friends," Pax echoed, "We're friends?"
He didn't even know if we were friends, but was still willing to express his infatuation? Alabaster growled. Instead of pointing out the error in logic, he said, "Don't get cocky. It's not every day that I get a willing lab assistant with no sense of self-preservation."
The next noise sounded like a choked laugh.
"Is your arm functional?" Alabaster asked, examining the blanket. "Jack never found you to tend to it."
The ghost extended its limb out without any apparent pain or struggle.
Alabaster sighed in relief as Pax lowered his arm back down. He tapped two fingers on the edge of the book. This will be fine, he assured. Nothing needs to change. All he needed was the affirmation from Pax. "Are my terms acceptable to you?"
Pax laughed. The chime was more genuine. "You don't have a lot of practice apologizing, do you?"
"Ajax."
The sheet ghost rested its head against Alabaster's thigh. After a pause, Pax squirmed further into his lap. Something familial, Alabaster decided. He wouldn't know. He didn't grow up with any of his half-siblings and his grandparents hadn't been touchy. In his fatherly charades, Jack often let Pax curl up on his lap. Axel spent plenty of time shoving Pax off him when Pax was sleepy and wanted a nap.
"Will you read it in a British accent?" Pax asked, poking the book's binding.
Six to seven hours of reading in a fake British accent? Alabaster weighed his options. He could double check to assure there was no recording equipment in the room, though he doubted Pax would press their fragile friendship with such antics. "…yes."
"Will you make Ron's voice higher in pitch?"
"Shut up and let me read to you." Alabaster found where he left off and pressed his lips at the cat reading a map. He continued, lilting his words in what he hoped was a British accent. He never had the ease with accents that the Pax brothers did.
Pax didn't complain. His breathing eased by the time Alabaster finished the next page.
At the end of the third chapter, Alabaster decided he would send Pax to bed with the other book in hand, the one for Axel (who had better not ask Alabaster to read to him). That was the other half of his plan. That book had a passage marked with a simple question, "Who is John Galt to you?" The question and passage should be subtle enough. They would strike conversations with Axel about tyranny and freewill without rousing suspicion from others. Then…
Alabaster scowled.
What would happen? What would happen if their talk of evil tyranny led to discussions of overthrowing Luke? The three of them, Pax, Axel, and he, worked well together in a stressful situation. The crowds took well to them when they were on stage. Alabaster was irritated to think a name like the Triple A Chimera (Pax didn't even go by his first "a" name) could be useful, let alone a symbol for change, but what if it could? A symbol for liberation through insurrection.
He needed to reflect on this with his mother. Her wisdom was years beyond his own, and she could reveal their different potential futures, one that might involve the "Triple A Chimera" slaying a corrupt titan.
"We work well together. With our skill sets combined, we could make an excellent assassination team," Alabaster muttered.
"Um… Uncle Vernon started to assassinate wizards?" Pax asked. He pulled the sheet partially off and rolled to stare up at Alabaster. His eyes were wide.
Alabaster hadn't meant to speak aloud. "No—well—we don't know yet. He might, judging off their insistence to break into his house."
"But, the wizards could just magic him to pieces, right?"
"No. No, bullets work quite effectively against wizards." Though, less so against brats with the Achilles' curse. Luke's weak spot was under his arm, where Axel had hefted him out of the River Styx. Kelly and Jack were the only two that Luke would let close enough to touch him there. And, Kelly would immediately rat Alabaster out if he suggested killing Kronos after the war.
What about poison? Could you kill a cursed of Achilles from the inside?
Pax pulled the sheet the rest of the way off. His amber and black eyes were so startled, they might roll out of their sockets. "Are you thinking about assassinating wizards?" With the sheet off and his sleeves rolled up, Alabaster could see bruises along Pax's arm. The injury must have hurt more than he let on.
Alabaster sighed.
Pax wasn't ready to talk about this sort of thing. Although the child of Eris held it together against the Romans, Alabaster noted how Pax tried not to kill anyone. Besides, right now, Alabaster was supposed to focus on being nice to Pax, not using him as a tool in this cosmic power struggle.
Alabaster removed a blank spell card from his stash and placed it between the pages as a bookmarker. "What you don't realize Pax, is, after the events of the book series, and after he went mad with power, that I killed Harry Potter."
Pax's jaw dropped open at the thought. "That is a fanficiton I would read."
"I'm sure you would. I forbid you from having Jack compose a ballad about it. [footnote 2] Come on. Let's get you back to your tent. I have something I need to give to Axel."
As they made their way back through camp, others were trickling in from the party. From what Alabaster heard, buses had been rented (in place of giant-carting death traps like Alabaster had to take). Some were loud with revelry; others were quiet with subtle glances tender touches, all hinting at future intimacy.
Pax didn't speak as they walked. Under typical circumstances, Alabaster would have prayed for this. Faced with the silence, only occasionally alleviated by passing partiers, tension dug Alabaster's fingers into his library books. Would the lab be like this in the upcoming weeks? Awkwardly quiet? Pax's chatter and excitement made for soothing white noise. "Not that I'm regretting the ability to think without interruption, but are you alright?" he asked.
Pax's jammed his hands into his punk jacket, toying with something in his left pocket. Alabaster knew it was probably one of those apples—the ones Pax's mother gave him each morning to turn into someone else. "Just thinking."
A warm breeze slithered through camp and Alabaster realized how exhausted he was. Emotional stress was tiring. He cleared his throat. "Ajax—"
"Matthias and I were talking about sneaking into the girl's bath house again. He perfectly measured the amount of water you need to fill a balloon to simulate a realistically filled bra, and I think he makes a lovely lady when he raises his voice a few octaves," Pax spoke quickly and adverted his gaze. This mustn't have been what he wanted to talk about.
Another sigh choked in Alabaster's throat. "Wait—you're not thinking about turning into one of the girls, are you?! Ajax, that's absolutely unethical—"
"What? No!" Pax cried. "I would not! Then, I couldn't prove that my hair can be tamed by no amount of conditioner! Lucille thinks I just don't use enough."
"Prometheus and I should place a bet on how quickly you'll be kicked out." Alabaster shook his head. "I forbid Lou Ellen from helping you in any way, shape, or form and I certainly hope you haven't discovered a new gift of magic, only to debut it with something so juvenile."
"Hey!" Pax protested, "Mercedes would agree: if Matthias and I do a security test on the girl's bath house and find it wanting, then we've done a favor in pointing out its weakness."
"I'm not even the one you're spying on and I get catharsis at the thought of your comeuppance."
They neared the Pax brothers' tent.
Alabaster debated whether he should give Mercedes a warning about their plan or if she'd find that insulting to her skills as an intelligence gatherer. If the Nord was strapping on a bosom and a wig and walking in the front, then it would probably be the latter.
Still, he was obligated to ask, "You haven't found an alternative non-magic route to become invisible or a woman—"
Pax withdrew the golden apple from his pocket and nipped it.
Nothing happened, which was peculiar. Eris' apples of mischief were never duds. Godly item only malfunctioned by intentional design. Usually, Pax turned into someone when he ate his apples, something Mercedes was thrilled to use for spy missions and something she'd only allowed Pax to tell Alabaster, Lou Ellen, Jack, and Flynn. (Alabaster suspected Mercedes' fear—that Luke would abuse this to see Annabeth sooner, even if it wasn't really her.)
The longer Alabaster examined Pax, the more he noticed subtleties: Pax's jaw line softened, his shoulders looked slimmer, something far less subtle about his curvature—
"It worked!" Pax laughed, grabbing at his—no—no—her—chest and lifting. "Oh my gods—Alabaster—they dance! You put your right tit in, you put your right tit out, you put your right tit in and you shake it all about—ow."
Alabaster shrieked and jumped backwards.
Pax, didn't seem to notice. He—she was too busy turning to do the Hokey Pokey and giggling. "Oo! Ow, okay. Gentle with the titties. I'll have to name them. Huh, weird that I never thought to name them before—"
"Ajax!" Alabaster repeated in horror. He was at such a loss for logical words, he resorted to profanities. "What the fuck?!"
Alabaster's heartbeat pounded so loud in his head that he couldn't think. He adverted his gaze to the ground. His face felt like it was on fire. Panic, it dawned, I'm panicking more than I did during Rome's attack.
A bloodcurdling comment came from the tent as someone stepped out.
"Ajax! I'm glad you're…." The word "back" died on Axel's lips. "You're a girl."
Alabaster looked at Axel, keeping one hand firmly between his eyes and where Pax was dancing. He assumed Axel would be staring at his little brother with the same shock Alabaster felt. Instead, Axel scowled at Alabaster with the intent of a crouching jaguar. "Torrington." Threat and accusation rolled out with the growl. Tension made the muscles in Axel's neck strain.
Alabaster's jaw dropped. "It—it wasn't me!"
"It had better not have been."
The movement behind Alabaster's hand minimized. "Am…. Am I not allowed to be a girl?" Pax's question was quiet and insecure.
Axel's response was immediate. From his lack of surprise or hesitation, Alabaster wondered if Axel had been expecting this for years. "You can be whatever you want." Axel gently ruffled Pax's unruly hair. Alabaster lowered his hand to watch the interaction, to see Pax's fragile smile at her brother's approval.
Seeing Pax like this troubled Alabaster, striking some uncanny valley in the approximation to his friend. All the other times Pax had shifted around Alabaster, it had been into completely different people (pretending to be Jason Grace or Luke Castellan) or completely different species (mostly weasels since Lou Ellen struggled to turn people into much else). The scientific and magic-loving part of Alabaster's brain should have found this fascinating—could Pax alter individual features about himself? Maybe give himself freckles, change his hair, skin, or eye color, or have a pincer in place of a hand? Why did he feel uncomfortable instead?
Axel had continued to speak, "As long as you want to be one and aren't doing it for someone else."
Pax tilted her head, spilling her hair off to the side. "Why would I do it for someone else?"
Axel glared at Alabaster again. Word must have spread about why Pax ran from the dance. With the ordering of events, the potential problem was obvious, though Alabaster had hoped that Axel would think better of him. "Oh, for Kronos' sake!" he hissed. "Axel—I—he just did this! I didn't ask him to."
Axel finally broke eye contact to glance at Pax's continued dancing. "Ajax," he sighed, "What did we talk about with touching yourself in public?"
"That it's inappropriate—oh!" Pax dropped her chest. She made quite the buxom lady and it furthered Alabaster's discomfort. "My chest is inappropriate now… Man, that doesn't seem fair for girls. I get why Lucille says it's sexist bullshit. The titties should fly free—"
"Ajax!" both Alabaster and Axel snapped.
"Sorry. I normally can't touch myself when I turn into other people because, uh, I turned into someone else, that's their body, and that would be creepy—"
"At least you have some moral sense," Alabaster muttered.
"But, I'm just me right now—"
"You're just you in public," Axel said, "And, you're my sibling. Don't do that in front of me. Or anyone for that matter." Whatever Axel had predicted about this situation, Pax's unorthodox dancing hadn't been part of it. [foottnote 3] "And don't think Flynn is going to let us off dawn training just because there was a party in our honor." Despite Axel's suspicion of Alabaster, he flashed both of them a smile that might have been… cocky? Proud?
This party had been for them. Although they assuredly would have died without Jack and Flynn's rescue, Jack happily spun the tale as an exclusively victory for the Triple A Chimera. They had worked well together, with Pax's expert surveillance granting the opportunity to prepare, Axel's mastery of terror and tactic, and Alabaster's magical subterfuge. The books in Alabaster's hands felt heavy. He withdrew the one thick enough to glaze the eyes of the feeble and handed it to Axel.
"Some light philosophy for meditation." Alabaster hoped his voice sounded metered and not high with residual panic. "If you grow bored with the length, I marked the chapter that best encapsulates the theory. Well, the primary one of discussion." Axel was smart, but could grow tired of things he found meandering. Worry made Alabaster swallow. What if Axel mistook the recommendation as idle chatter? What if he understood and reported him to Mercedes? Or worse, Luke himself?
Alabaster visualized Axel's rigid posture as he stood between Luke and Annabeth's door. There were details Luke had surely missed: the way Alabaster prepped a spell, the way Mercedes reached for darts that she kept pinned under her shirt, the accumulation of Axel's energy as he prepped a jaguar transformation. In that room, Alabaster learned these were people who would fight for what was ethically correct, even to defend an enemy, even against a titan.
All of them were probably afraid of the same thing: expressing that their leader had lost his mind. Maybe, Axel needed a nudge in the form of a book.
Axel took it and frowned at the cover. "Atlas shrugged?" he read aloud, "That's a little tasteless considering what happened to the General on Mount Tam."
Alabaster smirked. He'd never liked Atlas much in the first place. "I'm glad we're all alive. Good night, Axel." He nodded his head and turned to Pax. In the moment, he'd forgotten Pax wasn't his typical self.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, making it ever more apparent how differently she was shaped. "Thanks for staying my friend," she whispered into his shirt.
Alabaster's face felt hot. Although he hated the word, he could find no better adjective to address the situation other than, "This is weird."
"Yea, this is weird." Axel grumbled. Alabaster could hear his eye roll. "But turning us into weasels and polecats? Completely normal."
"That is normal!" Alabaster snapped. My normal. One of Pax's swirling black hairs had slid against his chin and he blew it away. The indents of her face felt warm as she burrowed against his chest. A puff of mint—Pax must have been chewing gum—flooded Alabaster's senses, sending them into hyper-awareness.
Alabaster gently put a hand on either of Pax's shoulders and removed her. Holding Pax a foot away, Alabaster flashed back to the first time they'd met. "Can you really do magic?" she'd asked, tugging at his sleeve and batting her lashes. He thought Pax was a girl, then, and been humiliated upon finding his mistake. What made someone a boy or a girl? Belief? And if it was belief, and not biological presets, what did that belief entail?
He cleared his throat. Her amber and black eyes were wide, a little afraid, and Alabaster slipped his grip from her shoulders, hoping they hadn't been there for an inappropriate amount of time.
"Are you okay?" Pax asked. "Do you need another hug? Prometheus approved: he says my hugs are cure alls."
"No," Alabaster said quickly. In attempt to make the denial seem less desperate, he added, "No, I think the only person who might be able to claim panacea hugs is Apollo."
"And no one should hug that creep," Pax said. From the way she glanced off in the distance, Alabaster wondered if that was data in Jack's seminar: What To Do When Pursued By a God and You Can't Turn into a Tree. "But… are you okay? You've been acting funny since…" Her eyes widened. She glanced down at her curves, then back up at Alabaster. Her lips quirked into a half-smirk.
Horror clogged Alabaster's throat. Pax knew. Alabaster wasn't exactly sure what elusive information Pax knew, but she did, and Alabaster had to leave before she used it against him.
"You—you think I'm hot! You're—you're just straight—!"
There was no viable response to either of those comments. Disagreement would make him sound cruel and any compliment would require Alabaster to (both) lock himself in his lab in a vow of humiliated solitude and hide from Axel for that eternity.
Axel scowled critically at Alabaster's pause.
This. This is what would be different if Pax was Axel's little sister instead of little brother. Axel would have an excuse to hunt Alabaster down on unwarranted suspicions and make a sign out of his lanky frame that read, Reasons Not to Hit on My Little Sister.
With nothing else to say, Alabaster nodded to Axel. He hoped that he had managed a calm exterior: his thoughts were uselessly incoherent. His voice sounded shrill. "That's on loan from the local library and is due in 21 days. I expect it returned to me on time and in prime condition. I hope both of you sleep well."
Before Pax could respond further, Alabaster rigidly turned and strode away. Although the night had taken on a chill, Alabaster wiped a line of sweat from his forehead.
Stupid. Trivial. Distracting.
He harnessed his focus, tuning out the unnecessary emotions. This was something he was more accustomed to doing with shame, shutting out his grandfather's and house servants comments about, "Witch," and "bastard child." It was harder with this current emotion—whatever it was that made his heart thud.
He grasped at the other thoughts drifting on his consciousness: Sleep. Axel's nightmares. Recognizing the Pax brothers as his friends. The three of them making an excellent team. Potential for assassinations. Luke's increasing failures as a leader. How to lead an army without their golden boy mascot.
They couldn't. Alabaster swallowed. The chilly air cleared his head. They needed Luke for the rest of the war effort. Disposing of him now would create a rift in Camp Othrys, one that they couldn't afford. Alabaster knew some of his siblings wouldn't follow him if a divide happens. If something happened to Kronos, the titans would split into opposing parties. Lamia and any children of Hecate that opposed Alabaster would surely fall on that other side. They didn't have a replacement leader strong enough to lead the war, other than… who? Flynn?
Alabaster's stomach churned. Axel was popular, but an outsider. None of the Titans, xenophobic by Hellanistic nature, would listen to him, other than, maybe, Prometheus. Flynn, thanks the roll of luck, had no interest in being a leader. That kind of power vacuum would likely lead Krios and Hyperion to sibling rivalry.
They would have to dispose of Luke after the war. They would need a plan to dispose of Luke after the war, assuming Axel and Pax would agree.
An idea slithered along the seams of Alabaster's awareness, one involving the murky silhouettes of a lion, a snake, and a ram. Maybe Alabaster could rid Axel of his nightmares at the same time as making a weapon to defeat Luke. The Triple A Chimera…
Magic couldn't save his dying father, but maybe it could save the world from the return of an ancient tyranny. With thoughts of this new death machine, Alabaster walked back towards his room, blissfully unaware that—for the next week—he'd spend an hour every night reading to a curvaceous, flirty female Pax.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! (Sorry for falling off the face of the earth again ''') I rewrote this ending, like, three times XD I hope it worked! Stay tuned in two weeks (hopefully '' in the theoretical universe) where a certain maniac redhead finds himself on an island with a population of two. Love you guys. Thanks for your support!
Footnotes:
1 When everyone stopped reading Tales from Mount Othrys, to pick up on a much more nostalgic work XD If it is not obvious enough, I do not have any rights to this book. There are not enough weasels or evil parents for me to have written it.
2 Maybe, guys. I'll consider it XD
3 Pax's playing the part of Captain Cook and the Isles of the Titties. Don't ask questions.