My hands were still trembling. My body felt like it had been put through a blender—twice. But somehow, I forced myself to run back outside, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The second I stepped into the sunlight, the normalcy of the museum courtyard hit me like a slap. Kids were chatting, eating lunch, totally unaware that I had just fought for my life against a literal monster.
Nancy Bobofit, unfortunately, was still very much here. And, of course, she had something to say.
"I hope Ms. Verr kicked your butt!" she sneered, arms crossed like she was so sure I had just gotten the scolding of a lifetime.
I blinked. "Who?"
Nancy rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out. "Our teacher, idiot!"
I frowned. "Mrs. Dodds?"
She scrunched up her face. "Who the heck is Mrs. Dodds?"
A weird chill ran down my spine. I glanced around. Nobody else seemed confused. None of the kids were whispering about how our pre-algebra teacher had just turned into a bat demon and tried to kill me.
It was like Mrs. Dodds had never existed.
My brain felt like it was short-circuiting.
I decided I didn't have the energy to deal with Nancy—the human equivalent of a rock in my shoe—so I ignored her and made a beeline for Grover instead.
He had that nervous look on his face, the one he always got when something really bad had just happened.
And I had a lot of questions.
"Where's Mrs. Dodds?" I asked, my voice still a little shaky.
Grover stiffened. His fingers twitched against the straps of his backpack, and he suddenly found something very interesting to look at on the ground.
"Who?" he said, way too casually.
I narrowed my eyes. "You know who. Our pre-algebra teacher—the one who just tried to murder me? Short, leathery wings, major anger issues?"
Grover let out a nervous laugh. "Percy, we don't have a teacher named Mrs. Dodds."
My stomach did a backflip. "What are you talking about? She literally just—" I stopped myself, looking around.
No one else seemed confused. Nobody was whispering about our missing teacher. Nobody was acting like anything weird had happened at all.
A cold, prickling feeling spread down my spine.
I turned back to Grover, who was still avoiding my gaze, shifting uncomfortably.
He was lying.
And worse? He knew exactly what I was talking about.
Still feeling like I was trapped in some kind of twisted joke, I made my way over to Mr. Brunner. If anyone could give me a straight answer, it had to be him.
Before I could even open my mouth, he smiled warmly. "Ah, Percy! Thank you for finding my pen."
Without thinking, I handed it over. The moment it left my fingers, I realized—wait. That wasn't just a pen. That was a sword. A sword that had saved my life minutes ago.
But Mr. Brunner just took it like it was nothing, tucking it into his coat pocket like it really was just a pen.
My brain stuttered over that for a second, but I forced myself to focus.
"Where is Mrs. Dodds?" I asked, watching his face carefully.
Mr. Brunner tilted his head slightly, his expression calm. "Mrs. Dodds?"
I nodded. "Yeah, you know, the other chaperone?"
For a long moment, he just looked at me. His expression didn't change, but there was something unreadable behind his eyes—like he was measuring me, deciding something.
Then he said, perfectly casual, "I'm afraid I don't know who you mean, Percy."
And just like that, the world tilted sideways.
The rest of the school year felt off. Like I was stuck in some elaborate prank that everyone was in on—except me.
No matter how many times I brought up Mrs. Dodds, the other students just blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Even Grover, who definitely knew something, kept brushing me off, acting like I was imagining things.
It wasn't just annoying—it was unsettling.
Every time I walked into pre-algebra, I half-expected Mrs. Dodds to be standing there, arms crossed, ready to give me detention for sneezing too loudly. But she never was. It was always just our regular math teacher—who had apparently been there the whole time, according to everyone else.
The weirdest part? There weren't any empty spaces where her name should've been in school records. No desk that had suddenly gone unused. It was like she had never existed at all.
But I knew better.
And the fact that no one else would admit it? That was driving me insane.
Finals were creeping up, and I was so on edge that the school basically decided they'd had enough of me.
"Percy," the headmaster had said with that we've-tried-our-best tone, "we think it would be best if you found a different learning environment next year."
Translation: Don't bother coming back to Yancy Academy.
Honestly? I didn't care anymore. Let them kick me out. I was too tired to fight it. Between the whole Mrs. Dodds never existed situation, Grover acting weird, and my own brain feeling like it was turning to static, I was done.
But I still had to survive finals first.
I sat in my dorm, staring at my Latin textbook, trying to cram for Mr. Brunner's exam. But the words wouldn't stay still. They floated off the page, twisting and twirling, rearranging themselves into a jumbled mess. My dyslexia had always made reading hard, but tonight, it felt impossible.
The letters swam before my eyes, mocking me. My head pounded. No matter how hard I tried, nothing was sticking.
I groaned and let my head fall onto the book.
Yeah. This was definitely going to be a disaster.
Frustrated and knowing I was getting nowhere on my own, I decided to go to Mr. Brunner's office. Maybe if I asked him for help, he'd give me some kind of study guide—or at least explain why Latin felt like it was actively fighting me.
Frustrated and desperate to not completely bomb my Latin exam, I decided to go to Mr. Brunner's office for help. If anyone could somehow drill this stuff into my head, it was him.
But as I got closer to his office, I slowed down.
Voices.
I recognized one instantly—Grover.
He sounded nervous, whispering in that anxious way he always did when something bad was happening. And then there was Mr. Brunner, his voice calm but serious.
I inched closer, my curiosity flaring.
Grover never whispered to teachers. And Mr. Brunner? He never sounded serious.
Something was off.
So, instead of knocking, I hovered just outside the doorway, pressing myself against the wall.
And then—I listened.
"He's not gonna have time!" Grover's voice was urgent, barely above a whisper. "The summer solstice is coming! The deadline is soon—"
"We must let him enjoy his childhood," Mr. Brunner said calmly, but there was a weight behind his words, like he was holding something back.
Childhood? Whose childhood?
My heart started pounding. They were definitely talking about me.
I pressed myself closer to the doorway, straining to hear more. Grover wasn't done.
"You don't understand," he insisted. "If we wait too long, it could be disastrous—"
A chair creaked. Footsteps.
I barely had time to panic before I realized—someone was moving toward the door.
Then something weird happened.
Before I could even think about hiding, my body moved on its own. One second, I was standing in the open, frozen like an idiot—the next, I was pressed into a small crevice along the hallway.
And that wasn't even the strangest part.
It felt like the shadows around me pulled me in, wrapping around my skin, dulling my outline. I wasn't exactly invisible, but it was like my body was blending into the wall, like I was part of the darkness itself.
My breath caught in my throat.
What the heck was happening to me?
But I didn't have time to freak out, because right then, the door creaked open.
And Mr. Brunner stepped out.
Mr. Brunner stepped out, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway. I held my breath, pressing myself even deeper into the shadows, hoping—praying—that whatever just happened to me was enough to keep me hidden.
He frowned. "Hm. Nothing." He let out a small hum, rubbing his chin. "It appears I'm too wired."
For a second, I swore he was looking right at me. But then he sighed and turned back toward Grover.
"Now, off you go to your dorms," he said, his voice shifting back to that calm, teacherly tone. "You have testing tomorrow."
Grover hesitated, like he wanted to argue, but then he mumbled something under his breath and shuffled away.
I stayed perfectly still, my heart pounding so loud I was sure they'd hear it.
As soon as Mr. Brunner closed the door, I exhaled shakily.
What the heck had just happened?
I practically bolted out of the hallway and into my dorm. Grover there like he had been there all day.
"Hey Percy, are you ok? You look terrible!" He asks.
"Just...sleepy," I say, which is technically true.
The last day of school came faster than I expected. I stuffed my belongings into my beat-up suitcase, shoving my clothes in like they had personally offended me.
I couldn't take it anymore.
The weird whispers, the way everyone had been acting like I was crazy, the fact that Grover had been clearly hiding something—it was all driving me insane.
So as soon as I spotted Grover, I cornered him.
"So," I said, crossing my arms. "What's going on? On the summer solstice?"
Grover stiffened. His fingers twitched at the straps of his backpack. "Wh-what?" he stammered, eyes darting around like he was looking for an escape route.
I took a step closer. "Don't play dumb. I heard you talking to Mr. Brunner. You said there was a deadline."
Grover swallowed hard. "Percy, I—"
But I wasn't letting this go. Not this time.
"You are a really bad liar, Grover," I accused, narrowing my eyes at him. His ears twitched—just the tiniest movement, but I caught it. He shuffled from foot to foot, gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only thing keeping him from bolting. His mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to come up with a convincing excuse but couldn't quite land on one.
"W-what are you talking about?" he tried, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a dying goat.
I folded my arms. "Oh, come on. You get all fidgety when you lie. You won't look me in the eye, and you keep messing with your backpack like it's got the answers written inside." I took a step closer. "So why don't you just tell me the truth?"
Grover let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. "Percy, I swear, I don't know what you mean."
I arched an eyebrow. "Right. And I'm the king of England."
"Look Percy, take this call me when you need me," He says and shoves a card in my hands.
The card showed his number and the place of address being something called "Half-Blood Hill"
I ditched Grover. Not because I didn't like him—Grover was my best friend—but because I was scared. Scared of whatever secret he was hiding. Scared of the way he and Mr. Brunner had been whispering about me like I was some kind of ticking time bomb.
And yeah, I was angry too. Angry that he wouldn't just tell me the truth. Angry that everyone was treating me like I was crazy for remembering Mrs. Dodds when I knew she had been real. Angry that my life, which was already a mess, was somehow spiraling even further out of control.
So, instead of sticking around to get more half-answers and nervous glances, I walked away. Left Grover standing there, shifting on his feet like he wanted to stop me but didn't know how.
I didn't look back.
I got home and immediately wanted to see my mom. Just the thought of her made my chest feel a little lighter, like maybe everything would make sense again if I could just talk to her.
And before you start thinking, Oh, typical momma's boy, just know—my mom isn't just any mom. She's the best person ever. No contest.
She's the kind of person who can make a burned batch of cookies taste like a five-star dessert just by smiling at you. The kind who somehow manages to make even the worst day feel bearable with a single hug. She's warm, kind, and so full of love that it makes you wonder how someone like me got lucky enough to have her.
So yeah, I needed to see my mom. Because if there was anyone in the world who could make me feel normal again, it was her.
My hopes were instantly dashed the moment I stepped inside and saw him—Gabe Ugliano, parked at the kitchen table, surrounded by the usual cloud of cigar smoke and the stink of cheap beer. A deck of grimy playing cards sat in front of him, his sausage-like fingers shuffling the cards lazily while his equally gross friends laughed at some joke I was sure wasn't funny.
Gabe is the worst person ever. And I don't say that lightly.
If my mom was the best human being to ever exist, Gabe was her complete opposite. He was rude, selfish, and smelled like he hadn't discovered soap in decades. He had this way of taking up too much space, like his mere presence was a stain on the air around him. He treated my mom like a servant and treated me like I was an inconvenience—one he had to tolerate as long as she was around.
The moment he saw me, he scowled, like I'd already done something to annoy him just by existing. I clenched my jaw, already regretting coming home.
"Where's Mom?" I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
Gabe didn't even bother looking up from his cards. "At work," he grunted. Then, without missing a beat, he added, "You got any money?"
Classic Gabe. No Hey, how was your trip? No Good to see you, kid. Just straight to the only thing he ever cared about—his next excuse to bum cash off whoever was unlucky enough to be in the room.
"I don't have any cash," I responded, crossing my arms.
Gabe frowned, his beady eyes narrowing like he could somehow sniff out money on me. He never believed me when I said I was broke—mostly because he always wanted me to be lying. More cash for his poker games, more excuses to shake me down like I was his personal ATM.
"Don't lie to me, kid," he grumbled, shifting in his chair. His buddies chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.
I clenched my jaw. I wasn't in the mood for this. Not after the week I'd had. Not after Mrs. Dodds, and Grover, and Mr. Brunner's cryptic conversation. All I wanted was to see my mom.
I did have money—some spare change from my lunch and a few crumpled bills I had saved up—but there was no way I was giving a single cent to Smelly Gabe. Not after the way he treated my mom, like she was his personal maid instead of the kindest, hardest-working person on the planet.
He didn't deserve a penny. Not from me. Not from her.
I kept my hands shoved deep in my pockets, leveling my best I'm not budging stare at him. "I told you, I don't have any."
Gabe's frown deepened, his face turning the color of week-old baloney. His poker buddies snickered, probably waiting for him to blow up, but I didn't care. Let him huff and puff. I wasn't scared of him.
"Brat, hand over the cash," Gabe snapped, his patience finally running out. His beady eyes locked onto me, and I could tell he wasn't in the mood to be messed with. Not that I cared.
I crossed my arms. "I told you, I don't have any."
His face twisted like he'd just swallowed a lemon. The room felt heavier, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the stink of stale beer. His poker buddies were watching now, amused, probably hoping for a show.
Gabe pushed himself up from his chair, his gut pressing against the table. "Don't lie to me, kid."
I clenched my fists in my pockets, my heart thudding. I wasn't scared of him—I refused to be scared of him. But I also knew how this usually went.
"I am not lying," I say, my voice firm.
Gabe's face turns an ugly shade of red, and before I can react, he slams his fist down on the table, making the poker chips jump. His friends snicker, enjoying the show, but I don't flinch. I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
"Don't talk back to me, you little punk," he growls, his breath thick with beer and garlic. "You live under my roof, you eat my food, you owe me."
I grit my teeth, my fists clenching so hard my nails dig into my palms. Owe him? The guy did nothing but sit on his butt all day while my mom worked herself to exhaustion to keep a roof over our heads. If anything, he owed her.
"I don't have any money," I say again, my voice colder this time.
Gabe's eyes narrow. For a second, I think he's gonna try something—yell louder, throw something, maybe even take a swing—but then he just snorts and waves a hand dismissively.
"Useless," he mutters, flopping back into his chair. He grabs a handful of pretzels and turns back to his game, like I'm not even worth the effort.
I stand there for a second, my body buzzing with leftover anger. I hate this place. I hate him. And more than anything, I just want my mom to come home.
"You are the useless one," I whisper under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
For a second, I think I got away with it. The poker game continues, his friends chuckling over their cards, the clinking of chips filling the air. But then—
Gabe freezes.
His head turns slowly, his face blotchy and red like a tomato about to explode. The vein in his forehead throbs. His greasy fingers tighten around his beer can, crumpling it slightly.
"What did you just say?" His voice is dangerously low.
I swallow hard, but I stand my ground. My heart is racing, my hands twitching at my sides, but I refuse to back down.
Gabe pushes back from the table so hard that the chair screeches against the floor. His poker buddies go silent, sensing the storm that's about to hit. One of them mutters, "Oof, kid, you done messed up."
"I said—" I start, but before I can finish, Gabe is on his feet, looming over me. His breath reeks of beer and stale pretzels.
"You think you're funny, huh?" His voice is shaking with barely contained rage. "Mouthy little brat. You don't do jack around here. Your mom works her butt off while you run around acting like some spoiled prince."
My hands ball into fists. "At least she works for something instead of leeching off everyone else."
That does it.
Gabe lets out a furious roar and lunges.
The gift activated again—I should really give it a name—and before I even realized what I was doing, my body moved on its own. I ducked under his sloppy, rage-fueled slap, my instincts sharp and precise. My hand shot out, grabbing his thick wrist mid-swing, and I twisted hard.
There was a sickening crunch. Like five celery stalks snapping at once.
Gabe's scream tore through the apartment, raw and ugly. His knees buckled, and for the first time in my life, I saw something I never thought I'd witness on his bloated, greasy face—fear.
His poker buddies shot up from their seats, eyes wide, unsure if they should step in or run for the hills. One of them muttered, "Holy crap, kid."
I let go, and Gabe stumbled back, clutching his arm, his face contorted in pain.
"What—what did you do to me?!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.
I stared at him, my own breathing heavy. My hands were shaking—not from fear, but from something else. Power. The same thing that had saved me at the museum.
Gabe whimpered, actually whimpered, and my stomach twisted. Had I gone too far? Maybe. But deep down, some part of me didn't regret it. Not one bit.
"Don't ever disrespect my mother again," I say in a low, deadly tone, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
Gabe's face is still twisted in pain, but there's something else there now—hesitation. Fear. He knows I'm serious. He knows, for the first time ever, that I'm not some helpless kid he can push around.
His poker buddies exchange nervous glances. One of them clears his throat. "Hey, uh, maybe we should call it a night."
Gabe glares at me, his face red with humiliation, but he doesn't say anything. He just cradles his injured arm and shuffles away from me like I'm some kind of wild animal.
Good. Let him be scared. Let him finally understand that he can't treat me—or my mom—like garbage anymore.
I step back, my heart still hammering, my hands still tingling with that strange energy. Whatever this gift is, it's growing stronger. And I have a feeling I'm going to need it.
My mom got home, looking exhausted but still managing to bring warmth into the room just by being there.
The second she stepped through the door, Gabe immediately launched into his pathetic routine. He clutched his arm like I'd taken a chainsaw to it and whined like a kid who just dropped his ice cream.
"Sally, your little brat broke my arm!" he moaned. "I told you that kid was outta control! You need to do something about him—"
But my mom didn't even look at him. She just turned to me with a smile, her eyes lighting up the way they always did when she saw me.
"Percy! Get ready, we're going to Montauk!" she said, completely ignoring Gabe's complaints.
Gabe's jaw dropped. "Did you even hear me? Your kid—"
"I said, we're going to Montauk," my mom repeated, this time with a slight edge in her voice.
Gabe huffed, grumbling under his breath, but he knew better than to argue. My mom might be the kindest, most patient person in the world, but even she had her limits.
I couldn't help but grin. Montauk. Our place.
For the first time all day, I actually felt like things might be okay.
A/N: Lemme know if you guys want longer chapters but fewer updates or shorter chapters wit hlonger updates!
Percy's gift is gonna be revealed soon, I hope you guys are as excited as I am!