Day Four

Getting kidnapped is really starting to lose its whimsy.

The first time still had a bit of novelty to it. She was ten, for one, so she was easy to intimidate. Luke pretty much just had to smile that sharked tooth grin at her, tap his fingers against the sword at his belt, and Juliette was a wonderfully obedient child.

Kidnapping #2 (does it count, really?) in the Underworld wasn't all that traumatizing. Julie got her voice snatched, but she also got a fancy bow and arrow (Apollo better not have lost it) and a bonding experience with Nico that kicked off a lifelong friendship.

Khione's kidnapping is where things start getting a little hairy. Julie hates the cold. Blame the snake side of her. Getting yeeted to Ogygia wasn't terrible (the weather was nice), but any time Julie is away from Jason, she tends to get a bit grumpy.

Cupid was a fun one. She got some answers. She got to see Nico cry over her, which (as heartbreaking as it was) just can't be anything but flattering.

Then, the most recent one with Nero and Lityerses has to be the most notable. Julie will certainly have PTSD for years to come if she makes it out of this alive. They take the top podium for the 'Who Screwed Up Juliette Aster's Childhood Most' award. Right after everyone on Olympus, of course.

She thinks that's all the times she's been abducted so far. Honestly, her life has been so whack by this point, that it's totally possible she forgot a couple.

The point is, this kidnapping is hardly special. It's definitely not the most creative she's been through either. She'd be totally bored if not for the talking horse.

"My brother can talk to horses," Julie notes, clicking her ankle chains together absently. The echoing of the clacking noise the Imperial Gold makes is satisfying. It's also pissing off the Wicked Witch of the Shopping Mall, and that delights her.

"Ain't that spiffy for him," The horse replies blandly, flicking his tail in disinterest.

"Why are you immortal?" She asks.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause you're a horse."

"So? You saying horses can't be gods?"

"Well, no, I didn't mean-"

"You ever read anything about the Norse? They know how to treat their horses right."

"I wasn't trying to be, like, species-ist-"

"What about Pegasus? Aryan? Some of us make something of ourselves, you know!"

"Okay! Okay, I get it! Sheesh!" Julie insists, eyes wide where she's plopped on the fancy mosaic floor of yet another throne room. She looks at Medea, feeling petty. "How'd you get even uglier?"

The witch scowls at her as the horse lets out a loud whinny that Julie is a bit proud to realize is his version of laughter.

Medea's dark painted eyes narrow dangerously. "I am going to enjoy taking you apart."

Julie rolls her eyes, manacled wrists in her lap. "Yeah, yeah. Let me know if you think of something more original to threaten me with."

She scans around the room boredly. Julie woke up in here about twenty minutes ago, the magic horse and evil-sorceress-who-tried-to-steal-her-underage-boyfriend both peering at her from their respective places up by the throne. The floor is yet another mosaic of yet another emperor dressed up as a god.

Snore. She's seen that already.

The dais Medea is perched in a chair on is a bit different than Nero's and Commodus', though. It's the first time there's been a second throne next to the larger one clearly meant for the emperor. She guesses the floozy must have somehow seduced her way into power here.

Honestly? Respect. Game is game. She's still a total bitch, though.

Julie herself was deposited on the floor at the base of the steps to the dais. Rude, but expected. Her armor and weapons have been taken, but they at least left her with her Imperial Gold leg. She's trying to ignore how exposed she currently feels in the thin pink stola she has left. It clasps at one shoulder and covers down to her mid-thigh, but Julie's arms and legs are totally exposed other than that. Not to mention, she's barefoot.

An intimidation tactic to make her feel vulnerable. Well played. It's totally not working. Not at all. Julie is completely calm, because she's been through this whole process before. They are not going to get to her.

They won't.

"So, does he usually have you guys just wait around forever for him? Is he, like, chronically late? Or are y'all just brown nosers and got here early?"

"You're freakin' weird, kid." The horse snorts. He tosses his brown mane and trots in place by the throne. "Ain't this the part you're supposed to be crying and begging to go free?"

Julie shrugs and continues looking around. "Eh. This isn't my first rodeo."

Unfortunately, there are no windows along the purple velvet-papered walls. Meaning she has no way of confirming the unfortunate suspicion that the style of the decor in here is implanting in her stomach.

This place looks an awful lot like Luke's captain's quarters.

Teach her.

When the doors finally slam open, Julie expects to turn around to an entourage of guards escorting a smarmy looking guy dripping in gold and sapphires. Surprisingly, only one man enters.

He's in a pale blue button-down and white slacks. His shoes are shining and gold, clearly recently polished and nearly blinding to look at. Other than those, though, his outfit is fairly mortal. If it weren't for the silly captain's hat perched atop his straight black hair, he'd look like a random guy on his way to his 9 to 5 at the local bank counter.

Also surprisingly...He's young. He couldn't be more than three or four years older than Julie is. He's handsome, and he knows it. His face is thin and pale like Nico's, his cheekbones pronounced and his physique tall and wiry. Deceptively weak. Even if he appears lacking in muscle, Julie knows the look of a predator. His endless black eyes hold no soul behind them. No warmth. No cruelty. Nothing.

She feels her breath curl up and hide behind her sternum. Juliette's witty opening line dies on her tongue.

She expects a lecherous smile like Nero. Or a glowing beam of self-satisfaction like Commodus. Instead, the emperor doesn't even glance at her. He steps right over where she's sitting on his floor and climbs the steps to the dais.

"Is it too much to ask that you do not distract my guards with your silly experiments?" He asks irritably.

Medea smiles and rises to greet him as he reaches the top platform. She leans in to kiss him on the cheek and then curtsies. "You very much appreciate my experiments when they are fruitful, do you not, Lord Caligula?"

Caligula.

Julie swears that Paul mentioned him to her. None of the information he'd told her is coming to mind, though. None except-

"Booties."

Caligula and Medea both turn to her. She blinks.

"Your names means 'little booties.'"

The emperor finally takes her in and raises an eyebrow. "Is this Commodus' Barbie doll?"

The witch nods. "Yes, sire."

"Why is she on my ship?"

Ship.

Ship.

Ship.

Ship.

Teach her.

Well, shit.

"The rotten little thing managed to outsmart her master-"

"That is hardly surprising."

"-and destroyed his arena. The Triumvirate-"

"So, just you and Nero, then."

"-ruled that Commodus could no longer be trusted with such a powerful weapon." Medea puts a hand on her hip and flicks the other. Julie yelps in surprise when the winds around her yank her up to her feet. She feels like Marilyn Monroe shoving her hands down to stop the skirt of her dress from flying up with her. "Nero wanted to reclaim her, but...I've thought of a few better uses for the girl."

Julie glares at her. She wants to retort, but the sudden gleam of interest in Caligula's soulless eyes makes her voice get lost somewhere between her chest and her throat. She stares up at him as he walks to the end of the dais and tilts his head, studying her.

Yeah, okay. The intimidation tactic may have worked.

Juliette feels very very vulnerable.

"Uses like what?"

"Well, she is a cordolium, sire. I can make great use of her in the development of our...weapon. She is important to Apollo. And to the praetors of that silly camp in California. She'll be excellent to draw them in once the time comes."

Medea's heels click against the tiles as she approaches the emperor. She slides her hands around his upper arm, resting her chin on his shoulder to whisper to him. Julie feels uncomfortable that she's present for the display. Like this is a scene Sally would jokingly cover Julie's eyes during if they were watching it from their couch.

"I will need use of her in a few days to complete our project. Until then, she belongs to you. There is no command you could give her that she would not be required to follow."

Caligula seems to be appraising Julie. She can't decide if she should puff up to look more imposing or if she should shrink down in hopes he'd find her of little value.

With Nero, it was easy to see what he wanted with her. It made her skin crawl, but she's a child of Aphrodite. Manipulating lustful men is their bread and butter. He'd been easy to read and even easier to control.

Commodus was all about vanity. As long as Julie let him think she was doing what he wanted, evading detection and fucking shit up under the radar had been taking candy from a murderous, immortal baby.

This guy, though...

His eyes are empty, yes. But, the longer he looks at her, the...less threatened that she feels. Maybe it's because he's physically closer to her own age. Or because he looks a bit like Nico. The small smile Caligula offers her is almost...comforting.

That terrifies Juliette enough to spring tears to her eyes.

This kidnapping might be different after all. Julie might really really be in danger here.

"What's your name, girl?" Caligula asks.

His voice is soft, not commanding. He almost sounds gentle. Like he's trying not to scare her.

And yet, the influence of Julie's cuffs has never felt more powerful. He didn't even give her a command. All he did was ask a question. But, it was enough.

There's a lick of fire down her arms as the Tiberii donum trigger. Then, Juliette's vision goes red.

Day Five

"What are you doing out here, Meg?" Apollo asks, peeking out the attic window of the main house. He's a little nervous doing so, and is very annoyed that this infuriating girl has made it necessary. The main house of Aeithales is ridiculously tall. Apollo has never had a fear of heights before, but that was when he was a god. Now...

Said infuriating girl has made herself comfortable on the roof of her father's home. Like some kind of canary.

No, canaries are too lovely. Meg is more of a toucan. Loud and brightly colored and likely to bite off one's fingers.

"None of your business."

Apollo scowls, surveying his young master. She's propped against one of the many vines that form the peaked roof of the building. Her yellow leggings are pulled close to her chest, the moonlight reflecting from her glasses and hiding her eyes from him as she broods, staring out over the many destroyed greenhouses below them.

There's clear warning in the tone of her voice, but she hasn't ordered him to go away. Gingerly, Apollo swallows his nerves and climbs out of the window to join her on the roof. It's not very graceful, but he makes it to her side and sits down next to her underneath the stars.

He glances at Meg out of the corner of his eye. Gosh, she is getting tall.

A larger Meg. That's a horrifying image. The world is not yet prepared for the destruction such a being would wreak.

"My own father was never around much when I was growing," Apollo tells her. "I understand to some extent what you might be feeling. How it is to love someone whom you hardly know. At least, in your case..." He puts a hand on her back. She doesn't bite it off, thankfully. "There is no denying that Philip McCaffery loved you very much."

Meg sniffles. It's a disgusting, wet sound. She pulls off her glasses and wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her dress.

"I know that," She snaps. "This isn't about him."

Apollo removes his hand before she reconsiders not maiming him. "What is it, then?"

"None of your business."

"We need to work on your conversational skills, Meg."

"Stuff it."

Apollo sighs and decides to admit defeat. He leans back against the vines and looks up at the moon.

It's full tonight. He hopes that Artemis is doing well.

He hopes that she's thinking of him. He could use her cool logic right now. Her strength. She always was the more capable of the two of them, even if he'd never admit so out loud.

He wishes she were here to tell him how to fix all of this.

"I found this stuff," Meg grumbles. Apollo looks back over at her. She kicks a cardboard box at him. It skids across the vine-roof and stops at his feet. "It was under his desk."

Eyebrow raised in intrigue, Apollo leans down and removes the lid from the box. Meg watches him silently as he reaches in and pulls out an orange paper folder.

He isn't sure what he's expecting as he flips open the top. Maybe a collection of old lottery tickets or something. Instead, Apollo turns over the envelope into the box, and out spills a series of random papers.

Newspaper clippings, old yellowed medical documents, children's drawings...Apollo is vaguely disappointed. He smiles at Meg anyway.

"He kept tabs on you," He notes softly. "That's a good thing."

Meg buries her face in her knees, muffling her voice. "Not me."

Not her?

He lifts some of the papers up into the light. He looks at one.

Records from a visit to the pediatrician. Dated twelve years ago. Patient was treated for pneumonia.

Another.

A handwritten letter. It's in Ancient Greek. Apollo is surprised a mortal was capable of corresponding in such a way, whether Philip McCaffery was a learned man or not. The woman writing to him is clearly fond of him. She is also fond of the child in her care. A child whom she calls 'Petal.'

Another.

A newspaper clipping covering a high school football game in Manhattan, New York. Right at the front of the huddle, dressed in a cheerleading uniform, shaking pom-poms with her hair bouncing in its ponytail, is Juliette Aster.

She's circled.

He circled her in the photo.

Like he had to make note so he wouldn't forget which one was her.

Apollo doesn't know how to feel about that. Meg doesn't seem to either. When he looks back over at her, she's glaring down at the greenhouses.

The former god decides to navigate this carefully. He'd rather not be shoved off this roof.

"What does this mean to you?" He asks in a gentle tone.

Meg glares harder. Apollo wouldn't be shocked if the compound caught fire once again just from the intensity of her gaze.

"He never told me."

Apollo taps the papers, looking over Juliette's smiling face. She can't be more than thirteen in the picture. Just barely older than Meg is now. "About Juliette?"

"About any of it!" shouts Meg. She throws her hands up, turning to him. "I thought that he told me everything! I thought there was no way he knew about her, because he'd never lie to me. Not ever!"

Apollo's heart squeezes. Tears are spilling down Meg's face. Her nose is running.

"And now, he's dead. And I can't ask him. And she's probably dead too."

"She isn't, Meg-"

"How would you know?"

"Juliette is stronger than you give her credit f-"

"How would you KNOW THAT?!" Meg gets to her feet, and Apollo almost yelps for fear she'll topple right off the roof. The vines seem to steady her without her even noticing, though. "This is all so STUPID! Why don't adults just tell the truth?!"

"Sometimes, the truth would endanger-"

"So what?!" Meg screams at him. "I thought you said we were 'stronger than you give us credit for'?"

Apollo crosses his arms. "Technically, I was talking about Juliette specifically."

Meg rolls her eyes so hard Apollo himself gets dizzy. She shakes her head at him. Then, she plops back down onto her butt, glaring. "Yeah. 'Cause you have a big crush on her."

Apollo blanches. "I do not!"

"Do."

"Do not!" He insists. "She is far too young for me. And besides," Apollo cringes. "I could never date anyone even remotely related to you."

The girl snorts, tearful but amused. The sound makes Apollo grin a bit, feeling triumphant.

He hands Meg the newspaper clipping of her older sister. She looks down at it, thumb running over the smile on Juliette's face, and Apollo once again finds his thoughts with the moon.

"She's going to be okay, Meg," Apollo promises. "Tomorrow, we will track down Piper and figure out how to defeat Caligula. Juliette Aster does not strike me as a girl easily broken. She will make it back to you just fine, and the two of you will get time to know each other. You'll see."

Meg doesn't look convinced. She continues to stare down at the photo, though. Eventually, she nods.

Apollo doesn't know Juliette very well. But he knows Meg. And if the two girls are cut from the same fabric, he truly does believe that the both of them are going to be okay.

Day Six

Every teenage girl has wondered what it's like to be a werewolf.

At least, Julie thinks that's a common experience. She's not really an expert on normal life as a teenager, she supposes, but the amount of Twilight merch she's able to find at the mall whenever she gets the urge feels like support of that assumption. Enough of the female camp-body is Team Jacob that Julie doesn't feel strange in admitting she's daydreamed about what lycanthropy would be like.

Ironic, considering she's probably one of the closest things that Greek mythology has to the pop-culture understanding of werewolves.

It's been years since Julie woke up after a transformation with no memory of what occurred while she was inhuman. And, even when she lost control growing up or was forced into her second form by Luke on the Andromeda, she's never woken up like this - like she does every few hours that she's in Caligula's care.

Every time it happens is the same, and yet more terrifying than the last.

Juliette will be on her side, goosefleshed skin pressed to the floor. Her joints will ache. Her muscles will burn as she forces herself to sit up.

She'll check that she's still in her pink stola. That she's still barefoot. That her hair is still long and her gold leg is still attached.

They will be. That's good.

Then, she'll check her skin. She'll look for injuries. Sometimes, she'll find one. Usually a sprained wrist or a split lip. The third time she wakes up, she finds that one of her back molars is missing.

She doesn't know how that happened.

Once she's satisfied that she doesn't need immediate medical care, Juliette will do her best to figure out where they've left her. If there's enough light around her to do so. And enough time.

After all, she'll only be awake for a few minutes. She does her best to make the most of them.

Once, she wakes up in a random hallway filled with shoes. It's narrow and carpeted in blue and red checkerboard. The lights are dim and yellow, the shelves and displays around her all laden with just about every kind of footwear the human race has ever invented. Julie is half sure she's in some kind of fucked up walk-in Polly Pocket closet.

Another time, she wakes up back in the throne room. Her surroundings are somewhat familiar, but her hair is wet, and she's covered in sand. The inside of her mouth tastes like sea water. Better salt than chlorine, she supposes, but it's hard to stop hearing Luke Castellan's voice chanting in her head.

She wakes up in a pitch black room. That one's bad. She spends five minutes thinking she's finally died, hoping that Hades will take pity on her for Nico's sake and at least let her go to Asphodel.

She wakes up in a boiler room, blisters down her left leg where she'd passed out leaned up against a hot water pipe. The smell of engine oil makes her miss Leo. She hopes he's okay. She hopes he's given up on trying to save her. She wants him to live.

Every time she wakes up, she has a panic attack. She's lucky that she usually wakes up alone. It gives her time to calm down enough that she can take deep breaths and try as hard as she can to contact Jason.

She won't feel anything. Not even a tingle. Not a whiff of a summer breeze. But, she'll do everything in her power to focus and scream down the line of her tether for Jason not to look for her.

Go home, she'll plead. I don't want to hurt you.

Nothing is worse than the chill in the left side of her chest. Than his absence. Than hearing thunder roar outside and having no window around to see the lightning flash.

Nothing is worse than the way her tears taste like the ocean and the realization that she's never going to see Percy again.

Nothing is worse than waking up and finding that her hands smell like iron. Or noticing the undersides of her fingernails are red and not remembering why.

Nothing is worse than when Medea is there to greet her as she awakens, and Juliette spends her five minutes of consciousness not alone at all.

Nothing is worse than that.

Nothing.

Trigger warning: medical torture and mention of needles

Day Seven

"Oh my gods, Jules, PLEASE just open it!" Percy exclaims, slapping his hands down onto the living room rug impatiently.

"Percy, let her take her time!" Sally chides.

Julie smiles at the woman a bit shyly. She's a little overwhelmed right now. She's only been living with the Jacksons for a few days. She wasn't even expecting to be allowed to stay here for long, and she's already being integrated into their normal lives.

Christmas is an entirely new thing to her - bringing trees indoors and singing funny songs about deer with glowing noses. Hot cocoa and hanging oversized socks from the fireplace. Waking up early so Percy can drag her out of bed and into the living room to open gifts that Sally got them. Both of them.

Julie's never gotten a present before. She wants to make sure she doesn't tear the paper. It has little sharks wearing Santa hats on it. She'd like to keep it.

Sally is cuddled in a red and green blanket, leaning back against the arm of the couch with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands as she watches Percy wait for Juliette to unfold the last corner of the wrappings on her gift. Percy had gotten a new skateboard since his last one was eaten by a hellhound. Julie doesn't have any idea what could be waiting underneath this paper for her. She's known Sally less than a week. And, honestly, Juliette doesn't know enough about the mortal world to even come up with ideas for what she might have gotten her. Her hands are shaking as she smooths open the wrapping paper and pulls the box inside into the light.

The cardboard is brightly colored. There's a picture of a young girl on the front. She's smiling at the camera and tossing her hair over one shoulder. Between the strands of brown, thin strips of sparkly, rainbow material shine like multicolored diamonds.

"It's not much," Sally says sheepishly, clutching her mug. "I thought you might like it, though."

Juliette blinks down at the girl's cheerful expression. She feels kind of stupid asking, but she's confused. "What is it?"

Percy snorts. She glares at him. He shoves another handful of blue M into his mouth.

"It's fairy hair," Sally tells her.

Julie bites her lip. She knows what fairies are, but she's still lost.

Her hostess chuckles and sets her coffee down. Sally holds her hand out, and Juliette sets the box into it, hugging her fluffy pj-ed knees. The woman showcases her gift. "It's a kit to help you put these sparkles in your hair. I wasn't quite sure what to get you, but Percy told me you're a girly-girl. I remember my friends growing up always doing this at sleepovers," She explains. "I thought you and I could learn how together."

Julie stares at Sally.

She doesn't know what to say. Her eyes stay stuck on the strands of pink and orange in the girl in the picture's hair.

It looks pretty. Julie has always wanted to be pretty.

"Can we do it now?"

Sally's eyebrows raise, and Juliette feels her cheeks burn. She shuts her mouth with a snap.

She hadn't meant to ask that question out loud. Today is an important holiday, right? Why would Sally want to do something stupid like this with her when she could be spending time with her son?

But, said son has lost interest and is off in the corner munching on a blue cookie while he balances socked feet on his new skateboard. Sally's face starts to brighten into a genuine smile, and Julie holds her breath.

"Of course we can!"

Julie still remembers what song Sally had sung that day as they wove sparkles into her hair. A Christmas carol about threatening homeowners for figgy pudding. The apartment had still smelled like snickerdoodles and apple cider for days after the Christmas tree came down. Juliette wishes she could make a candle out of that smell. Or a perfume. She wishes she could smell it right now.

She watches a strand of gold fairy hair drift slowly to the sterile white tiles. Was that her last one? Julie hasn't had the chance to look in a mirror for weeks now. She remembers staring at the gold strands in her hair on the saddest nights in her cell under the arena. They'd felt like home as she wound them around her scraped up fingers. They'd looked like Sally Jackson's smile - so real and familiar that she could almost feel her moth-her stepmother's hands carding through her hair.

Julie really hopes that they aren't all gone. She's lost so much lately.

The strand of gold disappears underneath the red sole of Medea's high heel. Juliette wants to protest, but there's a respirator down her nose and throat. She can't make a sound without choking on it.

"You know, Juliette, there was a time when you and I might have understood one another."

The witch's voice is falsely sympathetic. Julie wants to scream at her.

Everything is rocking like she's on a boat. Is she on a boat?

There's no windows around still to tell.

Medea's long black hair is braided down her back. Her eyes are narrow like a snake's and painted with dark liner. They're only inches from Juliette's as she lays tape over the needles in the crook of the demigod's arm. She smells like dust. Like bones. The light in the room is dim and blue, and the color of her lips reminds Julie only of blood.

Human blood. Not the purple syrup she's drawing out of Juliette's arm and into a bronze cannister at their feet.

"I was a lover once too. I put my livelihood, my powers, my wealth..." She snips a bit of tubing. It jolts the needle in Julie's arm, sending a burning sensation through the veins up to her shoulder. "All on the line. For a man. A man who left me for the first prettier face he found without a second's thought."

Julie squeezes her eyes closed. She's focusing on breathing properly through the tubes down her nose. This vertical table she's strapped to feels like a coffin. She's shaking. She's going to die here, isn't she? There are needles in her arms, and she's going to die.

"I had children, you know. We had children, I suppose." Medea scoffs. "Jason hardly even knew their names."

Her breath is hot against Julie's cheek. There's a pinching in her elbow, and then Juliette can feel more of her blood start to flow out of her veins. She can...hear it fall into the cannister.

It's trickling.

Like a leaky faucet.

Her life is being drained into a bucket at the feet of a sorcerous.

Black spots are blooming in her vision. Breathing is nearly impossible. Juliette starts to cry.

"Gods...I don't even remember their names now. Reliving cutting their throats every day for two millennia will do that. Their names are hardly of any importance compared to their screams and the injustice they caused me."

Finished for now, Medea sets down her tools and strides to the plush chair beside her enormous oak desk. It's littered with papers in a language Julie can't read. Jason could.

Jason.

Please find her, Jason. She doesn't want to die here. Here on this boat.

Jason, please.

"I spent thousands of years being punished for that 'crime'," spits the witch. She sits down and crosses a leg over the other, watching Julie's blood run down the tubing in her arm. Watching Julie get paler by the second, only on her feet because of the leather straps securing her to the upright table. She's getting colder by the second in this sterile, white room.

Don't find her, Jason. She doesn't want Jason to die here either. Here on this boat.

Jason, please. Please just forget her.

Teach her.

Teach her.

Teach her.

She wants to go home.

"I was reborn through Gaea's grace last year. Of course, you know that already. You and your little friends tried to slay me." The woman smirks. "You failed."

They failed.

Jason.

"But, the encounter made me realize something. Seeing your Jason-"

Jason.

"-so wrapped around the McLean girl's-"

Piper. Piper and Jason.

"-finger when anyone with a brain could tell they were both meant for someone else..." Medea runs a nail around the rim of the full wine glass on the desk. Her finger is coated in Julie's blood. The glass sizzles, but Medea's skin is unburnt. "My life's story was all built from Aphrodite's-"

Mom.

"-whims. From Hera's pathetic attempts at storymaking. I'd never been a real player in any part of my own legacy. Which is why, in tearing open the throats of those disgusting creations I called children, those abominations born from my ancient blood and Jason's-"

Jason.

"-mortal scum, I had offended Olympus!"

She laughs. She laughs brightly at the memory of her children's blood running down her arms.

"So greatly that they thought to lock me away in the Fields of Punishment for eternity for daring to interfere with their precious chess set. For not reacting to Jason's betrayal of my love like a damsel was expected to."

Medea rises again. The cannister at Julie's feet is full. The edges of everything in her sight are blurry.

"As if I, Medea of the Great Sun, grandchild of Helios, the most powerful sorceress ever to live, had ever been a damsel."

Julie's chest is tight. Her legs are melting. Her mouth is foam, and her ears are ringing.

Is she bleeding to death? She can't stop crying.

She doesn't want to die on a boat.

The sorceress puts a clamp on the tube in Julie's left arm. She cuts below it. She removes the filled cannister. Then, she places a different one on Juliette's right.

This one is also bronze. It's already full, though. Full of shining gold liquid that smells like snickerdoodles and apple cider.

Juliette sobs fearfully as she watches the color of it rise up into the tubing, approaching her arm. Not this again.

Teach her.

Teach her.

Teach her.

Teach her.

"I have returned now," Medea says with a smug smile, running that same bloody fingernail down the side of Julie's face. "If the gods didn't like me spilling my own blood, just wait until they see what I plan to do with yours."

Julie coughs, trying to expel the tubes from her throat. It just makes her choke again, and then she can't breathe. She's struggling against the bindings of the table, trying to shy away from the nectar rising up the tube before it can reach her veins.

Because they've done this already. This is the third time Medea has woken Juliette up just long enough to force her to watch as she pulls the blood from her body. As she finds yet another way to use her as Julie stands there, helpless to stop it.

Juliette knows what it's going to feel like when that nectar reaches her. That undiluted flow of nectar that isn't going to stop being pumped into her bloodstream until she is burning up from the inside out.

The gold reaches the veins of her arm. Just underneath her rightside Gift. Her blood turns to magma, and Julie screams. She screams as her veins boil and her vessels burst. She screams as the nectar makes them heal just enough to do so over and over again. She screams until her body can't hold out for air any longer.

She's weak. She knows she is. She wants to be strong and keep all these sounds inside of her, but she just can't.

Because she's all alone. Sally is two thousand miles away. Jason isn't coming for her. He shouldn't.

She's on a boat. She's never getting off of it, is she?

She wants Percy to save her. She wants Percy to be a million miles away from here.

She wants to see Jason, but she wants him to forget all about her.

She's scared.

Julie passes out, face coated in tears, hair hanging limp and tangled down her shoulders, lips painfully chapped, and a satisfied sorceress admiring the agony she's painted across such a beautiful canvas.

Day Eight

'A boat.'

That's enough information for Jason to work with.

The sound of the air conditioning might as well be the blast of an atom bomb. Jason's numb. But he's also buzzing. There are sparks on his fingertips. There are tears in his eyes.

He's never heard her sound like that. He's going to shoot lightning through everyone who had a hand in causing it.

But she's alive.

She's alive.

She's alive, and she's here.

The son of Jupiter stares out the window of his classroom, hand clutched to the golden glow in his chest. There's a car pulling into the parking lot. A car Jason recognizes to belong to Tristan McLean's neighbor.

The tears dry in his eyes. Jason's back straightens, and his jaw locks. In moments, all these months of waiting will come to a head. Jason's been wondering what choice he would make. Now that Apollo is climbing out of that half-wrecked Lamborghini, he's realizing what a stupid notion that was. There's no choice to make. Not when it's her on the line.

The day is here, and Jason is ready. He's ready.

"Stay alive, Juliette," He whispers to the warmth against his palm.

Caligula is going to regret docking in California. Because, now, Jason doesn't have to sit still any longer.