Chapter 2
Queens, New York - 18th July 2021
Lavinia LeFay slammed her locker shut with the kind of force that could have probably crumpled the metal if she put her mind to it. She glared at the doors, like they had personally offended her.
"Goodbye, East River High. Hello, Camp Half-Blood!" she muttered, feeling her mood improve just thinking about being free of this ridiculous place. She wasn't a fan of school. To her, it was a glorified holding cell until she could get back to training, monster-slaying, and living her actual life at camp.
She couldn't wait to escape the madness of high school—well, mostly. Her twin sister, Kit, was probably already out by the parking lot, and they were leaving for camp that evening. Maybe she'd even get lucky and finally, finally, be assigned a quest this summer. Five years at Camp Half-Blood, and she had yet to go on one.
Lavinia had survived the Battle of Manhattan. She'd helped out with the Siege of Nero's Tower. She'd taken down a hydra with nothing but a butterknife. (Okay, that last part wasn't true, but it was still pretty impressive.) But no, no quests for her. The gods clearly had it out for her when it came to giving her actual, quest-worthy missions. Kit, on the other hand? She'd been sent to retrieve the Mirror of Mnemosyne last summer. Lavinia tried not to hold a grudge about that... too much.
When she spotted the red Porsche 718 Boxster waiting by the curb, her mood took a nose dive. Kit, who had been staring at it like it was a snake about to bite her, shot Lavinia a look as if to say, I swear, if I can figure out a way to make this car spontaneously combust by the time we get home, I will.
"Wish Mom would buy us a car, instead of this... thing," Lavinia muttered, pointing at the shiny sports car. Kit sighed but didn't answer. She was too busy planning how she was going to set the car on fire without getting caught. Or at least, that's how it looked.
"Let's just get this over with," Kit grumbled as she reluctantly walked toward the car.
Lavinia followed, and the two of them slid into the back seat. Brad, their mom's latest genius boyfriend, was sitting in the driver's seat with a grin plastered on his face like he'd just won an Olympic medal in "Looking Like a Tool."
"You two should be grateful," Brad said, staring at them like they were the ones who should be honored. "Not everyone gets picked up in a car like this."
Lavinia's eyebrow shot up. "Yeah, you know what? I'm really grateful. Just waiting for the crash so I can say, 'I told you so.'"
Brad snorted and floored the gas pedal. The Porsche shot forward like it was being chased by an angry Minotaur.
"Says the idiot who failed her driver's test three times in a row." he retorted. Lavinia's hand slid into her backpack, where she keeps her celestial bronze dagger. Kit stopped her with a look.
"You two should show a little more respect, you know. Your mom's got great taste in men," Brad continued, completely oblivious of Lavinia's murderous intent.
Kit was the one who answered, her voice was razor sharp. "Respect? The only thing you're good at is pretending you're worth something. And trust me, we're not buying it."
Lavinia let out a dramatic sigh. "It's hilarious how you think we're impressed by any of this. You can't even pretend to be someone else. You're just... there."
Brad clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. "You don't know anything about me."
Lavinia raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sweetness. "We know enough. Hey, maybe we should start a GoFundMe for you. You know, just in case Mom dumps your sorry ass. You're gonna need something to fall back on."
She could practically feel the car's tires screeching as Brad slammed on the brakes. They were already home.
"Get. Out," Brad growled, eyes twitching with rage.
Kit was out of the car so fast, Lavinia had to blink a few times to catch up. But Lavinia? She had one final act to perform. Before she slid out of the car, she turned and gave Brad the most graceful finger she could muster.
"Thanks for the ride, loser," she called over her shoulder, letting the door slam behind her.
Kit didn't even look at her, but Lavinia knew her twin was fighting back a smile.
"I swear, if I spend one more minute in that house with him, I'm going to lose it," Kit muttered.
Lavinia groaned in agreement. "We can only hope that by the time we get back from camp, Mom has dumped him and moved on. Or better yet, he accidentally drives the Porsche off a cliff."
They walked into the house, praying for an end to the madness.
Kit was halfway to losing her mind. No, scratch that—she'd already lost her mind; she was just hanging on to the shreds. The source of her insanity? Lavinia's room. Specifically, the thundering bass line blasting from Lavinia's speakers, which were clearly set to shake-the-entire-house-and-maybe-summon-Zeus mode.
Kit stomped down the hallway and banged on her sister's door. "LAVINIA! TURN IT DOWN!" she yelled for the eleventh time. Or maybe the twelfth. Who was counting? Oh, right—she was.
Lavinia, ever the queen of selective hearing, just gave her a thumbs-up without even looking away from her laptop. Probably making another playlist titled Songs That Will Get Us Killed By Monsters. Kit groaned. Of course Lav was still glued to her screen. Using mortal tech as a demigod was like waving a giant Eat Me sign in front of monsters. But did Lav care? Nope. Her motto was "live dangerously." Which was probably why she hadn't been on a quest yet. Hermes kids weren't known for making great life choices, but Lav took that reputation to Olympic levels.
Kit sighed and retreated downstairs. She needed a break before she broke something—namely Lavinia. Or worse, Brad.
Speaking of Brad, he was sprawled on the couch, one hand cradling the TV remote and the other holding a soda like it was the Holy Grail. He was watching a football game and yelling at the players like they could actually hear him. When Kit passed through their luxurious living room, she made the rookie mistake of moving too loudly.
"Hey, Kit-Kat!" Brad called. "Make me a sandwich, would ya, sweetness?"
Kit froze. Sweetness. SWEETNESS? She took a deep breath. Hermes kids were supposed to be clever, not homicidal. She forced herself to keep walking. "I'm not your mom, Brad!" she snapped, heading straight for the kitchen.
Brad didn't seem to notice her seething. "Turkey and pickles! Don't forget the pickles!"
Kit muttered things under her breath that would probably get her grounded for life if her mom heard them. She poured herself a glass of milk, hoping it would cool her off. No such luck. That's when the house phone rang.
Kit debated ignoring it, but instinct won out. "LeFay residence," she answered sweetly.
"Kit, honey," came the familiar voice of her mom.
Kit's relief was short-lived. "Mom, where are you? You're supposed to take us to camp!"
"Yeah, about that," her mom said, sounding distracted. Kit could hear the telltale ding of her mom's office elevator in the background. "I'm running a little late."
Of course she was. Their mom was always "a little late," unless it was for Brad. Then she was "right on time" or "here's a new Porsche."
"No, no, no, Mom, you promised!" Kit pleaded, already knowing where this was going.
"Don't worry, sweetie. Brad will drive you," her mom chirped. "Oh, did you see the new Porsche I got him? Isn't it gorgeous?"
Kit stared at the phone in disbelief. "Mom, you barely know this guy! I don't think buying him a car was a great idea."
"Don't be silly," her mom said, clearly already tuning her out. "Gotta go! Look after your sister, okay? Love you!"
The line went dead. Kit set the phone down slowly. Her mom was brilliant when it came to business, but when it came to Brad, her brain took a permanent vacation.
From the living room, Brad whooped as his team scored a touchdown. Kit ground her teeth. She needed to get to camp before she actually murdered someone. Then, an idea struck her. A stupid idea. A risky idea. An idea Hermes himself would approve of.
A sly grin spread across her face.
Kit walked into the living room, all sweetness and light. "Here's your sandwich, Brad," she said, placing the plate on the coffee table.
Brad got up, his face lighting up like he'd won the lottery. "Thanks, Kit-Kat. You're the best," he said. Then, just as he picked up the sandwich, he paused. "Wait…you didn't poison this, did you?"
Kit gave him her most innocent smile. "Would I do that?"
Brad squinted at her, but hunger won out. He shrugged and took a huge bite. Kit turned and walked away before she started laughing. She bolted upstairs, clutching the shiny new car keys she'd swiped off the table.
"Thanks for the ride, sweetness," she whispered to herself, grinning like the troublemaker she was born to be.
Unknown location - December 1st 2002
Velora Everhart was not someone who did things halfway. She wasn't just loyal to Artemis; she was devout, the kind of devout that made even her fellow Hunters roll their eyes sometimes. Velora couldn't help it. Artemis had saved her from the lowest point of her life—when grief had hollowed her out and left her wandering like a ghost. She'd lost her only child to a disease that didn't care how much she prayed or how fiercely she bargained. When Artemis appeared to her in the woods that day, Velora had already decided she was done with the world. But then the goddess had offered her something better: a new purpose, a sisterhood, a chance to hunt monsters instead of being hunted by her pain.
For over six hundred years, Velora had lived without regrets. So, naturally, when Artemis summoned her to her tent, Velora didn't expect her world to be upended. Again.
"My lady," Velora said, bowing low, "you summoned me?"
Artemis sat in her silver chair, looking every bit the twelve-year-old goddess—except for her eyes, which glowed like molten silver. It always threw Velora off, that contrast between childlike innocence and ancient power.
"Yes, Velora," Artemis said, her voice calm but carrying that undercurrent of divine authority that meant something serious was about to go down. "I have a task for you. A... special request."
Velora's brow furrowed. She glanced around the tent, half-expecting to see an ancient monster chained in the corner or maybe some cursed artifact that needed escorting. But there was nothing. Just Artemis, her glowing eyes, and that vague, ominous statement.
"Of course, my lady," Velora said immediately. "Whatever you need."
Artemis stood, pacing the tent with the restless energy of someone who wasn't used to asking for help. "You've been one of my most loyal Hunters, Velora. For centuries, you've never wavered."
Velora blinked. She couldn't tell if this was a pep talk or a warning. "I am honored to serve you, my lady. You know that."
"I do," Artemis said, stopping to give Velora a rare, kind smile. "Which is why I am entrusting you with something... unusual."
She waved her hand, and in the corner of the tent, a silver glow coalesced into the shape of a crib. Velora's heart skipped a beat. A crib? She glanced at Artemis, but the goddess gave nothing away. Slowly, Velora rose and approached the crib.
Inside was a baby—a beautiful baby, with a tuft of hair so white it practically glowed. He was crying, his tiny fists flailing, but the moment Velora leaned over the crib, his eyes snapped open.
Bright silver. The same eyes as Artemis.
Velora's breath caught. "My lady," she whispered, turning back to Artemis. "This child... is he... yours?"
Artemis raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Do you really think I would break my vow?"
"N-no, of course not!" Velora stammered, flushing. "I just—well, the eyes, and the crib, and—"
"I created him," Artemis said, cutting her off. "Not in the traditional way, of course. I used a method similar to Athena's, but—" She hesitated, her expression darkening. "There were... complications. He is not an ordinary demigod."
Velora looked back at the baby, who was now staring at her with an unnerving amount of focus for someone who probably didn't even know what toes were yet. "Complications?" she asked warily.
"Monsters can already smell him," Artemis said. "Even now, he is in grave danger. If I were to keep him with me, the Olympians would notice, and questions would be asked. Questions I would rather not answer."
Velora nodded, though her stomach was doing flips. "What do you need me to do, my lady?"
"I need you to take him," Artemis said simply. "Raise him in my name. Protect him. When he turns eighteen, bring him back to me."
Velora stared at her, feeling like the ground had just been yanked out from under her. "You... want me to leave the Hunters?"
"Only temporarily," Artemis said. "A decade or two."
"A decade or two?" Velora repeated, her voice pitching higher than she'd intended.
"You've lived for six centuries," Artemis pointed out. "What's twenty years to you?"
Velora opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She looked back at the baby. He was sucking on his fist now, utterly unbothered by the fact that his existence was apparently a cosmic-level problem.
"I remember when I found you, Velora," Artemis said softly. "The Fates had taken your child from you, leaving you lost. I am giving you another chance. Love him as if he were your own."
Velora's throat tightened. She reached into the crib and gently picked up the baby. He was warm and surprisingly heavy for someone so small. He blinked up at her, his silver eyes bright with curiosity, and for the first time in centuries, Velora felt something she hadn't even realized she'd been missing.
"Does he have a name?" she asked, her voice thick.
Artemis smiled, and for the first time that day, Velora felt a flicker of unease. "Yes," the goddess said. "I have thought long and hard about this."
Velora braced herself.
"I've decided to name him Orion Pancake Wiggins," Artemis announced, looking ridiculously pleased with herself.
Velora blinked. "Pancake?"
"Is it not a fine name?" Artemis asked, tilting her head.
"It's... unique," Velora said carefully, glancing down at the baby. "Orion Pancake Wiggins it is."
The baby cooed, as if in approval.
"You leave tonight," Artemis said, her tone serious again. "No one must know about him. Not yet."
Velora nodded, holding the baby close. She had no idea how she was going to pull this off, but one thing was certain: she wouldn't fail Artemis. Not now. Not ever.
As she left the tent, baby Orion in her arms, Velora glanced down at him and whispered, "Well, Pancake, looks like it's you and me against the world."
The baby gurgled, and Velora couldn't help but smile.
Whitestone, Queens- 18th July 2021, 7:30 p.m
Lavinia stared at the shiny, brand-new Porsche, trying to muster some guilt for what they were about to do to it. Spoiler: she couldn't. The car was flashy, obnoxiously red, and screamed rich kid. Besides, Brad—the Porsche's overly attached owner—deserved it after that stunt he pulled last week with the yogurt in Kit's room.
Still, she couldn't help but mutter, "You know, this car never did anything to us."
Kit, who was already perched in the driver's seat with the confidence of someone who had never failed a DMV test in her life, twirled the keys she'd swiped from Brad's desk on one finger. "It committed the crime of being his. That's enough for me."
The engine roared to life like it had been waiting its whole shiny, overengineered life for Kit to claim it. Lavinia hoisted her duffel into the trunk, slid into the passenger seat, and buckled up. Rule one of riding with Kit: always buckle up.
As they peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing just to rub it in Brad's face, Kit grinned at Lavinia. "Shame we'll have to blow it up when we get to camp."
Lavinia frowned. "Blow it up? What if we just… keep it? Mom wouldn't even notice it was gone."
Kit gave her a pitying look. "First, Chiron would have a heart attack if we rolled up with this thing. Second, the Stoll brothers would steal it before breakfast. Third…" She grinned wider. "Blowing stuff up is fun."
Lavinia sighed, staring out at the empty highway as they sped along. The stars were bright, the night quiet. Too quiet. It had that eerie, something's-gonna-jump-out-and-kill-you kind of vibe. But maybe that was just her demigod paranoia acting up.
Kit broke the silence, as usual. "You think Percy Jackson will be at camp this summer?"
Lavinia groaned. Of course, her sister had a crush on Percy. Who didn't? The guy was basically a walking hero ad. "You know, he's taken. Annabeth Chase? Remember her? Blonde, terrifying, could probably kill you with a slide rule?"
Kit shrugged. "A girl can dream."
"Well, dream about someone realistic. Like Leo Valdez." Lavinia smirked.
Kit made a face. "Ew. No thanks. I don't do grease monkeys."
"Suit yourself," Lavinia said, grinning. Teasing her sister was her favorite pastime, second only to stealing cars. "I'm just saying, if Percy's off the market, you've gotta lower your standards."
Kit muttered something that sounded suspiciously like shut up, but Lavinia let it slide. She turned back to the window, watching the road blur by. That's when she saw it—a flicker of movement in the shadows. Something too big, too fast. Her pulse quickened.
"Hey, Kit," she said slowly, her eyes scanning the darkness. "You see that?"
"See what?" Kit asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The highway?"
"No," Lavinia said. "The thing in the shadows."
Kit squinted into the mirror. "Nope. Just your imagination, Lav. Relax."
But Lavinia couldn't relax. The shadows were shifting, twisting unnaturally, like smoke with a mind of its own. And it was following them. She gripped the door handle. "I don't think it's my imagination."
Kit's smirk faded as the shadows grew, stretching across the highway like a living storm. "What the Hades…" she muttered.
"Step on it," Lavinia said, her voice rising.
Kit didn't need to be told twice. The Porsche shot forward, its engine screaming in protest. But the shadows were faster. They surged after the car, swallowing the light as they came. The stars disappeared. The air turned icy. Lavinia's breath fogged up the window.
"What is that thing?" Kit shouted, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"I don't know," Lavinia said, her hand flying to her celestial bronze dagger. "But I don't think it wants to chat."
The shadows shifted again, coalescing into a shape—a figure cloaked in darkness, its edges flickering like static. The temperature dropped even further, and a wave of dread slammed into Lavinia, rooting her to her seat.
Then it appeared in front of them. One second the road was empty, and the next, a black-veiled figure loomed in their headlights. Its face was obscured, but two glowing eyes burned through the veil, cold and merciless.
"Look out!" Lavinia screamed.
Kit slammed on the brakes. The Porsche screeched, fishtailing wildly as it hurtled toward the figure. Lavinia braced for impact—but the car passed through it like it wasn't even there. The figure exploded into a cloud of smoke, but the feeling of dread didn't leave. The car skidded off the road, bouncing wildly as Kit fought to regain control. Lavinia's pulse thundered in her ears. The last thing she saw before the car spun out was those glowing eyes, staring at her from the darkness. Too bright. Too wrong.
Then everything went black.
Kit LeFay woke up to the taste of blood in her mouth and the sharp ache of a splitting headache. For a moment, everything felt like a blur—her mind struggled to piece together what had happened. She blinked against the dim glow of the moon filtering through shattered glass and twisted metal. The car had spun out and rolled—she remembered that much. Now it lay upsidedown, steam hissing from what was left of the engine, and the faint tang of gasoline burned her nose. Something warm and sticky was sliding down her forehead. She reached up, her fingers coming away slick with blood.
"Lav?" she croaked, her throat dry and raw. Her voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. She twisted toward the passenger seat and her heart plummeted. Lavinia wasn't moving.
"Lav! Lav, wake up!" Kit shouted, panic surging as she shook her sister's shoulder, "Come on, Lav! Open your eyes!"
A groan escaped Lavinia's lips, faint and pained, but alive. Kit's pulse kickstarted. "There you are," she whispered, relief crashing over her like a wave. Lav's eyelids fluttered, and she murmured something unintelligible.
"Hang on, I've got you," Kit promised, fumbling with her seatbelt. Her hands shook so badly it took three tries before the buckle released. She reached over to unbuckle Lavinia, her fingers brushing against her sister's arm—cold, damp with sweat. That was when Kit noticed the shard of glass embedded deep in Lavinia's side, a glint of moonlight catching on the jagged edge. Blood seeped around it, staining Lav's hoodie a deep, alarming red.
"Stay with me, okay?" Kit whispered. Her voice cracked as she wrestled with Lavinia's seatbelt, gritting her teeth against the sting of panic. "We've got to get out of here. Right now."
The faint smell of gasoline was growing stronger. Too strong. Kit's gut churned. The car could blow any second.
With a desperate kick, Kit shattered the cracked windshield, sending shards of glass scattering across the ground. She slid through the opening, pulling Lavinia with her. It wasn't graceful—Kit nearly lost her balance as Lav groaned in pain, her weight sagging heavily against Kit's side. They collapsed onto the ground outside the wreckage, Kit gasping for breath.
She glanced back at the car, half-expecting it to go up in flames right then and there, but the only sound was the faint hiss of steam. Not yet, she thought grimly. Not yet.
"Lav, we've got to move," she said, slinging Lavinia's arm over her shoulders and hauling them both to their feet. Lav's knees buckled, but Kit held firm, ignoring the way her own legs wobbled under the strain.
The forest around them was eerily quiet. No crickets. No rustling leaves. Just... silence. No, not silence. Kit froze, her breath catching in her throat. Whispers.
They were faint at first, just at the edge of hearing. But they grew louder with every passing second.
"Demigods..." the voices hissed, curling around her ears like smoke.
Kit whipped her head around, searching the dark for the source. Her pulse hammered in her chest as she saw nothing but trees and shadows.
"Come on Lav, one foot infront of the other," Kit said, trying to keep her voice steady as they trailed through the trees.
"Where's the car?" Lav mumbled, her voice weak.
Kit didn't have the chance to answer. A deafening boom shattered the quiet as the car erupted into a fireball, the heat washing over them even from a distance. Lav flinched against Kit, her breathing ragged.
"That's where the car is," Kit muttered grimly. "Come on, we're almost to camp."
She heard the stream before she saw it—the faint burble of water that meant they were close. So close. But the whispers followed them, growing louder, more insistent.
"Demigods. Hermes' spawn..."
The air grew colder, like an invisible hand had sucked the warmth from the night. Kit's breath misted in front of her face.
"Do you feel that?" Lav asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kit swallowed hard. "Yeah. I feel it."
They stopped moving as the temperature plummeted. Kit's instincts screamed to run, but something made her turn around instead. The shadows around the trees seemed to move, coalescing into shapes—humanoid but wrong, like the silhouettes didn't quite know how to hold together. Red eyes glowed in the darkness.
The figure leading the pack floated forward, silent as a wisp of smoke. More of them emerged from the trees, at least twenty by Kit's count. They surrounded the sisters, their hissing whispers rising into a deafening cacophony.
"Uh, Kit?" Lav murmured weakly.
"Yeah?" Kit answered, her voice trembling.
"We're about to die, aren't we?"
"Not if I can help it," Kit growled.
She braced herself, throwing an arm out to shield Lavinia as the lead creature lunged—only to be blasted backward by a torrent of water that slammed into it like a tidal wave. Kit and Lav whirled around to see the source.
Percy Jackson stood at the edge of the clearing, his celestial bronze sword gleaming in the moonlight, a determined look on his face.
"You called for backup?" he said, smirking.
"About time," Kit muttered, her knees buckling under Lavinia's weight.
Before she could collapse, another figure appeared—Annabeth Chase, looking calm and focused as ever. She slipped under Lavinia's other arm, taking her weight with ease.
"Move," Annabeth ordered, nodding toward the camp. "She's bleeding, we need to get her to the medical tent,"
The three of them staggered uphill, Percy bringing up the rear, his sword flashing as he batted away another shadowy figure that got too close. They didn't seem to like that blade very much.
When they finally crossed the magical barrier into Camp Half-Blood, Kit felt the tension in her chest loosen just a fraction. The air warmed instantly, and the whispers stopped.
"What were those things?" Kit asked breathlessly as they helped Lavinia into the medical tent.
"Keres," Annabeth said grimly. "Spirits of violent death. They've been ambushing any demigod trying to get to camp for days."
"I'll go get Chiron." Percy said eyeing Lavinia's wound. He jogged off toward the campfire, his sword still in hand. As they led Lavinia to the medical tent, Kit's adrenaline was finally fading. She muttered a quick prayer to Hermes, thankful they'd made it back alive. But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over—not by a long shot.
Camp Half-blood, Long Island - 19th July 2021
Rachel Dare was not having a good day.
Her head throbbed from the lack of sleep, her fingers were stained with more paint than her canvas, and the cave she now called home smelled faintly of mildew and, inexplicably, peanut butter. She glared at the wall in front of her, where her latest "masterpiece" stared back like it was mocking her.
The painting showed a white-haired guy holding a glowing yellow disc—like a sun on steroids. Around him, darkness swirled, thick and menacing, with clawed hands and glowing eyes pressing against a bubble of light the disc created. It was creepy and ominous, sure, but most importantly, it meant something. Something big. Something that was probably going to ruin someone's day. And yet, for the life of her, Rachel couldn't figure it out.
She threw her brush onto the table with a satisfying clatter. "Why can't you just make sense for once?" she grumbled at the painting, as if it might suddenly say, Oh, sorry, let me explain. It didn't.
For weeks now, she'd been having these frustrating glimpses—flashes of things that felt like warnings. Demigods disappearing. Keres (those nasty, death-loving spirits) circling the camp like vultures. Beings that didn't belong to Greek mythology invading her visions—because of course, Greek monsters weren't bad enough. And then there was him: the silver-haired guy with the glowing disc, standing in the center of it all like he was trying to hold the world together. Or maybe tear it apart. Who could tell anymore?
After everything—Kronos, Gaea, the Triumvirate, Python--Rachel had dared to hope for a break. Just one little world-ending catastrophe-free year. Demigods still fighting monsters? Sure, that was normal. But another apocalyptic threat? Come on. She sighed and dropped onto her stool like the weight of the prophecy spirit was crushing her—because, well, it kind of was.
"Rachel?"
The voice snapped her out of her brooding. She turned to see Meg McCaffrey standing at the entrance to her cave, her usual scowl in place, with her demon peach baby sidekick toddling along behind her.
"Peaches," the karpoi snarled, glaring at Rachel like it was ready to start flinging fruit at her.
"Peaches," Rachel muttered back dryly, with about as much enthusiasm as someone saying tax audit.
"You were supposed to watch him today," Meg said, crossing her arms. "Remember? Strawberry harvest? The satyrs are already whining about it, and if I don't supervise, Peaches is going to eat half the field."
Rachel groaned. Oh, right. Babysitting duty. How had she forgotten that she'd promised to spend a day with a feral peach spirit that hated her guts? "Sorry, Meg. I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis here. Chiron asked me to figure out what's going on with, you know, the disappearing demigods and the death spirits trying to storm the camp. Peaches might not be super helpful with that."
"You promised," Meg said, her glare intensifying.
Rachel sighed, knowing she couldn't argue with a daughter of Demeter who could probably make a tree sprout out of her nose if she wanted. "Fine. How about this? Take him to Percy. He still owes me for reminding him about his anniversary last month. Remember that? Annabeth was about two seconds from gutting him like a fish."
Meg's mouth twitched. "You're mean."
"Percy will survive," Rachel said. "Now, go, please. I've got doomsday to decipher."
Meg sighed. "Fine. Come on, Peaches."
The karpoi turned back to Rachel, hissed, and blew a raspberry before stomping out after Meg. "Peaches," it muttered, clearly offended.
When they were gone, Rachel dropped her head into her hands. She was exhausted, and no closer to answers than she'd been yesterday—or the day before, for that matter. She glanced up at the painting again, the figure of the white-haired guy glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The painting didn't respond, obviously. But Rachel felt it—the sense of foreboding, like something massive was on the horizon. And whoever this guy was, he was at the center of it.
"Great," she muttered, running a hand through her paint-smeared hair. "Just great. Another apocalypse. Fantastic."
Somewhere deep in the camp, a cold wind blew through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of distant whispers. Rachel shivered. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to wait much longer.
Heey guys. I'm glad to see my first chapter seemed to peek some of your interests. Sorry for the late update, i had to take my time with this one. Let me know what you think.