Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Annabeth and I walk through the forest, wet leaves squishing and squelching beneath our feet. The rain is still coming down, and we're alone.

Grover tried out his flying shoes to find somewhere to go, but he got mixed up, and last we heard he was rocketing back to New York at astonishing speed. He'll figure it out eventually, catch back up with us, but in the meantime Annabeth and I are just trudging through the woods in the dark, looking for someplace to stop.

A mile or two later, that place reveals itself with the wafting smell of greasy, wonderful fried food, and a red electric glow that flickers and fizzes through the trees.

It takes us a little longer to reach a deserted two-lane highway. Across the street is a small row of businesses: a shuttered gas station, a movie billboard with angry eyebrows and a curly mustache spray-painted right across the leading lady's face, and one place that still has lights on, the source of the good smell and the glow.

In the rain-slick night the red neon sign over the business's gate shines off the pavement and reflects from the leaves and glimmers from the dozens and dozens of cement statues that surrounded the building – some kind of curio shop, apparently, not a fast food joint. It's written in glowing cursive that's all gibberish to me, with my dyslexia. Even Annabeth takes a while to figure it out: Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium.

Well, there's certainly no shortage of garden gnomes here. But with that smell, they have to have a snack bar.

You know how in the cartoons, sometimes they'll stick their noses in the air and follow a smell, totally entranced and zombie-like? That's not actually what I'm doing, but it may as well be.

"Should we leave a sign or something?" Annabeth asks as we step into the front lot. "So Grover can find us if he comes back."

"You have anything to make a sign out of?" She scowls, realizing she doesn't. "Besides, Grover knows he's looking for two kids! The smell of fast food will be the first place he goes! And I could really use a bite to eat."

"Me too," Annabeth admits. "All right."

We stop at the closed steel door marked DELIVERIES – we'd probably come around the back, but too late now – and I rap on it. Only a moment later, the door opens. On the other side is a tall woman wearing a long black gown over her entire body. It covers almost everything, face included. Her hands are just about the only thing I can see – they're dark-skinned and look old, but her nails are nicely done. Middle Eastern, I figure.

"Children," she says, with an accent I can't really place. "It is too late to be so far from home, all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're... um..." Annabeth didn't seem sure.

I have a whole story already thought up – something about a circus – but something tells me it'd be a bad idea to lie to our host. "My mom's dead, my stepdad's awful, and my dad's never spoken to me. I'm sorry, it's a long story, it's just... we had nowhere else to stop and it's been a day."

"Oh, my dears," she says, her voice sad and entirely trusting for all that the truth is still pretty wild. "I understand better than you think. I have had... days... myself. You must come in. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through. There is a restaurant on the other side of the building."

"Thank you," I tell her, as I step across the threshold.

"Thanks," Annabeth agrees.

The warehouse has even more statues – people of all shapes, sizes, and poses. Aunty Em must have been something of a historian, because they're mostly wearing weird old costumes. I hold back a giggle at one man with a ruff sticking up almost to his nose. Quite a few look Greek or Roman, and I can almost imagine Chiron walking in and chatting them up. They're all life-size – no chance Mom would have ever wanted to fit one of these into our Manhattan apartment, but even people with back yards might have to think twice about something this big.

"The food smells delicious," I say.

"One would hope," Aunty Em says from behind us, just as we emerge into the fluorescent-bright restaurant, walking through the spring-loaded staff doors. It's an absolutely beautiful fast-food counter, a real vision of the '50s, all woodgrain and chrome. There's even a jukebox by the door, though it's not playing anything. The kitchen looks well-stocked too, with a row of deep fryers, a griddle, soda taps, a milkshake mixer, even nacho cheese. Outside there are picnic tables with metal umbrellas and parking spaces facing the oncoming traffic, though no one else is around. "I've had long enough to practice. Please, sit down."

"I don't think we have any money," I admit as I step around the counter and slide onto a stool with a red vinyl cushion. I glance at Annabeth, checking if Athena had inspired her to shove some of our cash into her back pocket before our bags got blown up. Or Hermes. Apparently neither.

"No, no. I would not ask you to pay. It is clear you've been through a lot already."

"Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth says as she sits at the counter beside me.

"Of course," Aunty Em says, but she sounds surprised by Annabeth's gratitude. She folds her hands together. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child. My mother's were just the same." The words are wistful, but tinged with pain.

Annabeth smiles and puffs up, preparing to boast, but before she can she deflates just a little. "Is that... a bad thing?" she asks. She must have heard the same bitterness I did, and I remember that Annabeth hasn't seen her father in years.

"We don't get along," Aunty Em admits, but she sounds pleased that Annabeth thought to ask. "But you can't help the color of your eyes, and you have been perfectly kind to me."

She turns her back and starts to cook. Before too long, she sets out double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and heaps of hot French fries on bright red plastic bucket trays. It's probably the least healthy thing either of us has had in ages, but it's so good. So good.

When I look up, half the burger is gone, and I hadn't even thought about it. I look to Annabeth, who's practically inhaled her shake. I smile, and she smiles back. Then I turn to our host, who's just been standing there watching us. I feel like it's rude to just wolf down my food without saying anything.

"So, gnomes and burgers?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Strange pairing, yes?" she says. "But I have been making gnomes for a very, very long time. Not as often now as I used to, but you see I have plenty of stock still."

I nod, my mouth full of fries.

"The burgers are newer. The diner came with the building, and at first I meant to close it, but it turned out to be good for me. I'm prone to be a hermit, but all sorts of interesting folks stop by on the back roads. I appreciate the conversation. It's been a long time since I've spoken so much with... ordinary people."

"My mom works in a candy shop, and she likes talking to people," I say after swallowing. "Most of the time, anyway."

"There are sometimes bad ones," she admits with a shrug. "And then I make gnomes."

I'm not sure what to say about stress gnoming. It doesn't take too long for her to realize that, and then she moves on.

"So it sounds like a lot of things led up to you two being here," she says. "And I assume your parents were part of it."

Annabeth and I share a look. Yes, but it's not like we can explain any of that...

"I won't make you tell me anything," she reassures. "But if you like, I can tell you about my own mother. I find it is always helpful for children to know their battles have been fought and won many times before."

"Thank you," I say, though I'm not sure that anything she could say would really help us out with Poseidon and Zeus and Hades.

"My mother sometimes likes to fashion herself a scholar or an artist, but for the most part her obsession is simply with power, keeping it and growing it. Which doesn't mean she doesn't take her hobbies very seriously." She leans back against the pretzel warmer. "As my older sister found out."

Her voice takes an unmistakably nostalgic tone. I get the sense that all this happened a long time ago, and a long way away.

"When she was young, my mother had just taught herself a new form of art, so of course her children were all expected to learn it." I can't help but notice she hasn't mentioned what that form of art is. Probably means it's something weird. When she was young... maybe her mom was into modern art? I wouldn't want to brag about Mom sending a toilet to a gallery. "She wasn't so crazy about it by the time I came around, and guess why?"

It takes me a little while to chew and swallow my bite of burger, but I don't want to be rude, and it seems like Aunty Em is willing to be patient. "Your sister?" I finally ask.

"Indeed. She loved it the moment she tried, and she practiced like crazy... until, eventually, she was even better than Mom. She was proud of what she'd done, and she thought our mother would be too." She shakes her head, and somehow I can just tell, even under her veil, that she's glaring. "Oh, she should not have done that. Mother was so angry. She didn't just cast her out of the family – she disfigured her. And she got away with it, too."

"That's horrible," I say, looking down at my tray. Gabe's never hurt me or Mom anything like that badly... but if he thought he could do it and not go to jail? "I'm sorry." I look over at Annabeth. Something about the story seems to be sitting poorly with her – that or she ate too much – but I nudge her with my foot and she apologizes too. "Is she doing okay?"

"Oh, yes. She's doing fine. Getting out was excellent for her, though she didn't realize that at the time. She was furious. She still is, a little. She even took it out on me, back in the day. But she has a million little grandkids and she's just great."

"I'm glad," I tell her, and smile.

"That's sweet of you," she says, and leans over me, ruffling my hair. "In some ways she had it easy. Leaving the family can be its own production. You can't go until she says you can go. That... is what happened to me. I was something of an artist too, you know, and she wasn't having that at all."

"You wanted to be a sculptor?"

She laughs, and it makes her sound much younger. "That came later. No, at the time I wanted to be a playwright. The problem was, my mother is not a playwright. Wasn't even interested. That was my uncle's domain. And if she can't do it, then it's worthless." She sighs. "I think you might know how demeaning a parent like that can be."

"Sorta like if Gabe had any actual skills," I say, and she laughs again.

"It's true she was intelligent, but that has its good and bad sides. She expected her children to be just like her, but never better than her. At her side at all times, in all things. I didn't want to follow her plans for me, but I didn't have a lot of choice. My other parent absolutely worshipped her, no help at all. I needed someone else. Someone who could stand up to her. So I got myself a boyfriend." She steps back up to the counter and spreads her hands. "Have your parents had the Talk with you yet? Are you old enough for the rest of this story?"

Annabeth and I have no idea how to respond to that, and share a bewildered look.

"You look old enough," she decides. "Anyway! We had sex, and Mother absolutely hit the roof. She screamed and wailed at me, and she started a stink with everyone. She went around telling people he assaulted me – because he didn't ask her! Which is not how that works, but then Mother never did care about boundaries."

"You were an adult?" Annabeth asks.

"Yes, I was!" she says indignantly. "He was older, but I was twenty-two and more than able to make my own decisions."

"So she went after your boyfriend?" I ask nervously.

"No. She wouldn't have managed that anyway. No, she wanted to punish me."

"That's not right!" I say.

"It isn't, but she didn't care." She slouches back once more, waving her hand in front of her. "My boyfriend talked to them, and they came to an agreement... something my mother, my grandfather, and his wife considered as bad as death, if not worse, but that he knew – and I agreed – would set me free. They decided to make a monster of me."

... Monster? I had been full and satisfied, but I snap right out of it, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I steel myself for action. Annabeth pulls her long bronze knife from her shirt, holding it out in a defensive posture.

Aunty Em swears, floridly, in ancient Greek, ramming her elbow into the stainless steel panel behind her. Then she sighs, and looks back to us. "I didn't mean to say that just yet... but I was getting there. Allow me to show you." Aunty Em reaches up, and removes the wrap from around her head. For a moment, I think she has dreadlocks. Deep purple dreadlocks. And then her hair separates, looks around with small eyes, stands at attention. Starts to flick red forked tongues from their mouths.

Snakes, I realize. Those are snakes.

She has searingly yellow eyes with vertical slit pupils, and long pointed incisors like snakes' fangs. Her skin is mostly the same brown as her hands, but with a strange pattern in purple – triangles under her eyes, with lines running below her mouth and down her neck.

"I am Medusa," she says. Of course. Aunty Em. Aunt Medusa. And it explains all the gnomes. "You may have heard of me."

Annabeth takes a sharp breath and dives off her seat, under the counter. "Don't look in her eyes!" she hisses up at me, before she puts on the cap and vanishes.

"I already have," I say nervously, though my gaze locks to the surface of the counter, away from those magnetic yellow eyes. I slide off my stool to land under the counter. Medusa makes no move to stop me. "I still feel all right."

"I will not turn you to stone by mistake," she says, and her voice still sounds so calm, so soothing, despite the counter muffling it, even despite knowing who she is. But I can't believe her just like that. "I have had a very long time to master my abilities. I will only turn you into a statue if I wish to, and I do not – though if you should try to attack me, that will change."

"Medusa is a menace!" Annabeth hisses into my ear. "Remember the myths? She's evil! We have to stop her before she hurts someone else!"

"I can hear you," Medusa says. "And that is not true." But then she sighs. "Though I should expect that the version of my story they tell to my little sisters is not complimentary."

"You are not my sister!" Annabeth shrieks, right in my ear. I flinch away and glare at the air where she presumably is. I hear her footsteps away from me – she's off to hide somewhere else in the room.

"Yes, I am. The Goddess of Knowledge is my mother too." She walks out from behind the counter, and I see her boots and the hem of her gown as she steps out into the aisle. "I once had eyes just like yours... though so long ago that even I scarcely remember them. She often turned her rebellious children into monsters, then. Me and Arachne both."

"Arachne's not my sister, either!" Arachne. That's the other story Medusa told. She beat Athena at weaving, and so she turned her into a giant spider.

"Truly? Again?" Medusa is starting to sound annoyed. "Arachne had enough skill in weaving to outmatch our mother, and enough chutzpah to tell her so. That doesn't sound familiar to you at all? Not like anyone you've ever met?"

This time, Annabeth just huffs.

"Everything I said was true, by the way. About her story and mine. And that boyfriend I mentioned?" She crouches down. Before I can turn away, she's looking me right in the eyes, a smile on her face. "He was your father. Poseidon."

I freeze with fear, so much so that I might think I had turned to stone. But I haven't. I look down at my hands to double-check, but I'm still just fine.

"Come on out of there," she tells me. "You can see I won't hurt you." She looks over her shoulder, presumably seeing nothing. "I'm not going to hurt you either, Annabeth, unless you try to stab me."

In reaction, I hear another quiet huff, and a shiny chrome napkin holder vanishes at the other end of the counter.

"Stay invisible if you like," she says archly. "Just so long as you don't cause any trouble." Then she sits in one of the vinyl-upholstered booths, and motions for me to join her. "Your father was nothing but kind to me, and I hope to repay that kindness."

"Thank you," I say, sliding into the bench opposite her. I look up for just a moment before my gaze returns to the polished table. I'm genuinely starting to trust her, but it still takes a lot of guts to look up at her. "What's he like?"

"The King of the Seas has always been a kind god – not to everyone, I'm sure you know what can happen on the sea, but to his children and lovers, always. And I thought... he could help me."

"But he didn't? That's why Annabeth's mom turned you into a monster."

"Yes, he did," she says, and as she says it she smirks, her fangs poking out of her mouth. "Becoming a monster is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Why would you want to be a monster?" I ask.

"Why wouldn't I? Becoming what I am means I can live forever, gave me magic far beyond what I had before, brought me fully into the pantheon and introduced me to dozens of other monsters I love a great deal." She reaches a hand up, and her snakes obligingly wind themselves around her hand. "My little ones are perfect. I cannot imagine living without them any longer. And I think I'm beautiful."

I look at her and think it over. It's obvious even now that she was very beautiful when she was human. Her features are stately and well-aged, despite the purple markings staining them. The fangs, the marks, the snakes... those might take some getting used to. But if I were made to look like that... would I really hate it that much? Maybe not.

"She deserved worse!" Annabeth yells from the other side of the room. No idea what she's up to. "She slept with your father in Athena's temple!"

"You say that as if he and I despoiled her altar, screaming and writhing in passion as we twisted the cloth and knocked the ritual silver to the ground." Medusa smirks. "And I did do that later, with dearest Arachne. Our mother deserves no better. But back then I lived in her temple, child. My other mother was her high priestess. I lay with Poseidon in my own bed."

"You slept with Arachne?!" Annabeth asks indignantly. I hear footsteps in the aisle, but Medusa doesn't seem to react, just sitting there blithely.

"Of course," she says, and as she does she smiles in just the most lovesick way I've ever seen, even more than when Mom talked about my dad. Even the snakes seem to get in on it, settling down and flicking their tongues calmly. "I love her. She's the most beautiful woman in all the world."

"Doesn't she look like a spider?" I ask. "Like, a big giant spider with the top of a human stuck on?"

"Mm-hmm," Medusa says, her misty-eyed smile not weakening even a little bit.

"Isn't she your sister?" Annabeth asks sharply.

"It's all right if it's on the godly side," Medusa says. "If it weren't, the Olympians would all be wall-eyed. Even the king and queen are siblings."

"And she didn't go after you?" Annabeth adds, and the words almost sound pleading. "You didn't grow up fearing spiders?"

"Oh, she did torment me," she says, though she still just sounds fond. "I mentioned that already. In fact I imagine it was worse for me than for you. She was angrier back then, and less picky in her targets. Her children went after me even as I plotted to leave our mother behind."

"And you forgave her?" Annabeth asks.

"She apologized very thoroughly." And there's the smirk again.

Annabeth scoffs, but then doesn't speak for a few moments. When she does, it's in a pained whisper. "Then why did she go after me?"

"Were you told who your mother is? At a very young age, perhaps?" Medusa waits a few moments for a response before assuming yes and continuing. "These days, Arachne only targets those of our sisters who worship our mother. If you had renounced your faith, her children would have ceased."

"I will not renounce my mother," she says, though her voice is tight.

Medusa sighs. "I can't make you... but I know how rarely her children's faith is ever repaid, and I hope you reconsider before it goes too badly."

"Why does Arachne attack her siblings?" I ask. "And... why don't you?"

"I loved being a monster from the moment I became one," she says, slouching back in her seat. Her snakes relax, resting on her shoulders and stretching out like ordinary hair. "I have your father to thank for most of that. He did a lot to help me adjust. I am still angry with my mother, because she was very controlling and very cruel, but I have never felt compelled to seek vengeance against my siblings. After all, they're in the same boat I was, even if they have yet to realize that." The words are pointed, but Annabeth doesn't respond – I just hear a sneaker squeak against the linoleum on the other side of the room. "It took dear Arachne far longer to come to terms with what she now is. I understand why your companion is angry with her. Truthfully, I wish she would stop, too. And I hope the wounds our mother inflicted on her will heal, eventually."

Medusa sighs. She stands up, and I'm almost worried she'll go after Annabeth, but instead she walks up to where we'd been sitting at the counter. When she turns back, she's holding my milkshake, which she sets down in front of me, and a mug of coffee for herself. She sits back down and folds her hands around it.

"But they have not healed yet. And I don't believe she'll stop until they do."

"She'll stop when a hero slays her," Annabeth cuts in. But she doesn't sound quite as sure of that as I would have expected. Her voice is weak, and close to tears.

"Don't you know?" Medusa asks, and she suddenly sounds very old, and very bitter. There go the footsteps again. "We just come back angrier."

Then Medusa blinks, and her head turns to the side. Quick as a flash, her arms snap out toward the aisle, one clawing into empty space, the other reaching out – to flick Annabeth's cap off her head. It sails over the counter to land in the soda fountain. Her other hand clutches Annabeth's arm, her claws digging into the wrist that holds her long Celestial Bronze knife. She pries it loose and tosses it on the booth beside her, then grips Annabeth's chin, bringing their faces close together, two of her fingers stretching out to force her eyes open.

"I can forgive a lot from a poor misled sister of mine, especially one with such a well-behaved companion, but if you so rudely try to murder me in my home you are asking to become a gnome!" she snarls. Her snakes are hissing and writhing, their fangs on display. "I understand if you don't trust me, but you are looking me right in the eyes and you're not dead! Are you willing to stop panicking, sit down and be polite for a change?"

Annabeth flails and gasps – but she is looking Medusa right in the eyes, and she seems to realize that. Eventually her struggle slows, then stops, and then Medusa releases her face. "Fine!" she yells, though there are tears glittering on her cheeks. "Fine. I'll hear you out."

"And thank your partner." She releases Annabeth's arm, and she flinches away, but true to her word, she sits in the booth beside me. I scoot over to give her space.

"Thanks, Percy," she echoes dully, before turning her gaze to the table in front of Medusa. I get the sense she'll let me have it later for not trying to chop Medusa's head off, but she's not going to piss her off yet either. She sets that chrome napkin holder on the table in front of her – she must have been using it as a way to look in Medusa's eyes safely. "How'd you catch me?"

"Did you think you were the first of our siblings to be granted invisibility?" she drawls, sounding nostalgic. "Believe me, child, if that was going to work on anyone it wouldn't be me."

Annabeth glowers at the table. "So, how many demigods have you killed lately?"

"Unprovoked? Not in over a century, not since the starving age." Medusa's snakes wriggle on her head, seeming to cover their faces. "In self-defense? Almost every demigod who finds out who I am tries to murder me, like you just did. So, yes. I have killed quite a lot of demigods."

Annabeth scoffs. "Self-defense? You really expect me to believe you did nothing to them?"

"Oh, come now. When you left camp, did no one offer you a parting wish to slay some monsters?" I wince, and I can see Annabeth does too. We left camp in a real hurry... but Luke still had time to say basically that. "I am a monster, and a famous one. That is enough. You are heroes. Your kind have slaughtered me with my back turned, taken my head home, and cherished it as a spoil of war." She glares at Annabeth, and though her gaze does not turn Annabeth to stone, I get the sense that it's close. "After three thousand years, I have grown very, very weary of that."

"You really hate the word 'hero,' don't you?" I ask.

"It grieves me to hear a son of Poseidon say it with such reverence," Medusa says. "You realize that ideal once belonged to the children and stepchildren of other gods?"

I blink. "Zeu— uh, the god of lightning?"

"Not quite. Which goddess's name sounds like the word 'hero'?" Ah. She means Hera. "It's a reasonable guess, it is the king's family who upholds the ideal, but they are not after all called zoos. No, it is the queen who sets this standard for her many children and stepchildren."

"So?" Annabeth asks. "So what?"

"I do not much care for her," Medusa says dryly. "Have you heard the story of Hephaestus? He is her child, with the king. A legitimate son, for once. She should have been proud, but she considered him ugly and deformed, and so she cast him from Mount Olympus. Had the boy not already been given his share in the Heart of the Pantheon, not already connected with his domains, he would no doubt have perished and been forgotten by all. Perhaps there were other siblings, once, who were. I am not old enough to say." Once again, she locks eyes with Annabeth. "I hope you find that just as abhorrent as I do."

"O-of course," Annabeth stammers.

"The idea that it is good and just to kill the monsters, who look different, act different, maybe even seem scary... that is what makes a hero. That is why the imperative to kill monsters is at the root of every quest. Perhaps you also achieve something of value for the gods, perhaps just the killing is enough. Either way, you go back home, and are rewarded for it."

I am sharply reminded of Luke's rerun of a quest, stealing an apple from the Garden of the Hesperides. The achievement wasn't important, not after Hercules did it... but the monsters he was expected to slay were very real. Even though they come back, that can't be fun.

"Don't act like the monsters aren't out to kill us!" Annabeth says.

"Most of us in the king's domain have no choice," Medusa says lightly. "Things are different in the sea or in the underworld."

"Poseidon... isn't like that?" I ask.

"Oh, of course not!" Medusa says. "Poseidon has many monstrous children. Mercreatures, cyclops, horses, a few giants... he is even Charybdis's father. And Atlantis is a city full of monsters. It's not as if humans can live beneath the sea. He would treat you no worse if you looked just like me."

"I had no idea," I say, and I can't help but imagine it. A city of monsters, far beneath the waves, where my father rules...

"You wouldn't, not in this age," Medusa says. "In the old days, you would have spent half your time at the Atlantean court, becoming comfortable with monsters almost as early as you did humans. There was no rule then keeping the gods out of their childrens' lives."

"Why would they change that?" I ask.

"Some demigods do benefit from it. I am quite sure Annabeth's blind faith would have been shattered long ago if she actually got to know our mother – she's clearly very independent, and Mother dearest does not tolerate that very well. Perhaps she might already have joined me with fangs and claws." (Annabeth quietly seethes at my side. Medusa raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn't say anything.) "But you, Percy, have lost a great deal. You have been raised in the king and queen's world, and you are much the lesser for it."

"Why don't you live down there, if it's so great?" Annabeth demands.

"I've visited Atlantis many times, but I... am not built to live under the waves. I am a granddaughter of the sky, and my mother was the one to raise me as a monster. I wish I could stay, but I am sure Percy will love it, if he ever takes the chance."

"So why have you been so kind to us?" I ask, almost before I realize I've done it. She turns to me, surprised. "I mean... we are heroes. We're on a quest. You fed us and talked to us and gave us advice, and you didn't have to. You could have just not answered the door when we knocked. You could have started fighting when we found out who you are, or killed Annabeth when she tried to stab you. And you clearly don't like heroes, so... why?"

Medusa nods, and smiles. "Partly, I'll admit, because you are a son of Poseidon, and I owe him a great deal. Partly because you both were polite and grateful before you found out who I am, and never lied to me. Partly because after all this time I have learned to guess when the skein of fate tangles around someone's heels, and you both certainly have that. You will both be important, I think, though you may very much wish you weren't."

Her eyes lock with mine, but this time her gaze isn't scary – she looks hopeful. Almost proud. All the snakes are staring at me, too.

"Mostly it is because I still dream of a better world for us monsters, and I think that born heroes turning their back on heroism is the first step on the path to one. And I don't believe that will happen unless I reach out first."

She smiles, but then yawns, a normally innocuous action made more alarming by her very large fangs, and the strange purple veins and yellow sheen of venom inside of her mouth. Apparently the yawn is contagious, because some of her snakes yawn too. Maybe I've been staring at Medusa too long, but I think that part's adorable.

"It is getting late, children. I had quests of my own, when I was but a demigod myself, so I speak from experience when I say that a bath and a good night's sleep can be more valuable than the rarest treasure." Annabeth nods vigorously, then seems shocked to have agreed with Medusa. "If you are willing to trust me, I can provide it for a night... and perhaps something more in the morning, if I can win you both over."

I look at Annabeth. I find Medusa... surprisingly easy to trust, so I'd take that offer in a heartbeat. She's always been the skeptic. But she's also had her own bad quest experience – her journey to camp – and it seems like the offer of a warm bed might just be the key to her heart. She grimaces, and then nods. "As long as I can sleep with my knife in my hand," she says.

In response, Medusa picks it up, holding it gingerly by the blade, and presents it back to Annabeth, who takes it back and then cradles it to her chest like a baby. "As long as you don't go back to heroically trying to murder me."

"Thank you," I say. "I... we really appreciate it."

"T-thanks," Annabeth agrees, though she doesn't make eye contact.

Medusa leads us out of the diner, Annabeth picking up her hat as we go. It turns out Medusa lives in an apartment above the back, accessible by a metal stair in front of some garage doors. She has a big black Cadillac parked down there, so old it has tail fins – way nicer than Gabe's Camaro ever was.

The upstairs is surprisingly nice, soft carpeting and fancy trim that might almost make me think I'm in a mansion instead of the back of a cinderblock warehouse. And of course it overflows with artifacts, not just from ancient Greece but from all the eras between then and now. To Medusa, I'm sure they're just knick-knacks, but Indiana Jones would be drooling on sight.

It's not too big, though – there's a guest bathroom stocked with random left-behind toiletries as they usually are (including a horn trimmer, I wonder whose that is), a guest bedroom with one big bed, and a couch in the living room that's almost as soft as one. Medusa has us draw lots for where we sleep, and I end up with the couch.

We both get a chance to shower. Medusa doesn't have normal clothes that would fit us, but she offers us chitons and to wash what we have, since it's already dirty and sweaty. We eagerly accept.

Then Medusa wishes us good night and turns off the lights. I fall into deep sleep, snug on the couch in the middle of a monster's lair.

Chapter Text

I wake slowly as the first morning sunlight streams in through the window, low and red. I'm not on a real bed, and for a moment I think I might be back in the Hermes cabin. But it's soft and comfortable, with a heavy blanket over me – so comfortable that I can almost forget about another dream of the Underworld.

Then my eyes catch on an ancient vase on a shelf, and that jogs my memory: I am in Medusa's house. The lady with snakes for hair. You know, the one. And I woke up again. I'm not a garden gnome.

I'm not, am I?

I stand up as quickly as I can, and pat myself down. No, I'm perfectly fine.

Not that I expected to be a gnome. She seemed nice yesterday. I don't feel bad about trusting her, especially since she's proven herself trustworthy. I was in her home all night and nothing bad happened to me. But... I am still aware that Medusa is the woman who I've been hearing scary stories about all my life. Or, rather, the monster.

Apparently Medusa woke up before me, because there's a bundle on the ground that wasn't there before – my folded clothes, with a little note on top of them. There's another one by Annabeth's door.

I'm downstairs in the diner, it reads. It won't be too busy, but I usually get a few customers for breakfast. Come and see me when you're ready. – M

I change, and head down to meet her. The warehouse is scarier alone, watched by all of Medusa's gnomes-that-were-once-people, but despite their unsettling aura, they don't move or actually do anything creepy. I make it into the diner, fluorescent light glowing brightly through its door, without trouble.

"Good morning, Perseus," she says from behind the counter, as I slide onto one of the seats.

"Good morning! Uh... you found out my name." Isn't Perseus the one who beheaded her, in the myths?

She seems to realize why I'm nervous, because she smiles. "I'm not going to blame you for having a jerk as your namesake. Though I will say I'm surprised. The original Perseus was, after all, a different Olympian's son."

"Mom liked that his story had a happy ending," I say. "Most heroes don't."

"Mmm." A smirk flits across her lips for just a second. "Let's just say the end of his story... was not quite as happy as the myths would tell you. Arachne and my sister gorgons were furious with him. It is true that he became a king, but I think you can aim for better."

"Good to know," I say nervously. I don't really want to be a king anyway. "But I go by Percy instead. You seen Annabeth?"

"I think she's still asleep. You woke quite early." She's leaning on the counter, a mug in her hand.

"I slept well. Thank you for the couch. And you were up way before me, if I didn't wake when you were moving around."

"I don't sleep for long." She sets down her coffee mug, and instead lifts a full pot. "Do you drink coffee?"

"Mom always said I'm too young."

"Wise of her," she says, pulling out a gallon of milk instead and pouring me a cup. "Would you like anything for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, maybe? I don't know if you—" Evidently Medusa does serve pancakes, because she immediately turns to her griddle.

"Coming right up!" she says, ladling batter onto the grill.

I watch her as she works. She's dressed very differently from yesterday – the robe must be something she only throws on when there are demigods around. Today she hardly seems worried about being seen at all, I guess trusting in the Mist. Her only concession to her monstrous appearance is a pair of mirrored aviator shades perched atop her nose, hiding those violently yellow slit eyes. And they're not even visible with her back turned. Aside from that, she just looks like an old-fashioned waitress, like her uniform came with the very '50s-looking diner and she never bothered to change it. She's wearing a shirt with red and white checks, a white apron, a red scarf around her neck, and a little paper hat on her head. Her snakes are dressed up, too – like Medusa, each wears a paper hat and a scarf around its neck, just tiny.

One of the snakes turns to me, smiles with its fangs out, and then sticks its tongue out on me. Another hisses to Medusa, and she laughs. "We have a few minutes, if there's anything you want to know," she says, turning away from the pancakes.

"Uh... Where'd you hear my name?"

"I asked around. Had some Iris calls. You and your quest are a hot gossip topic. And everyone knows about the Master Bolt. I'm pretty sure someone's leaking information from your camp. Probably not things you want floating around the monster community, but I couldn't tell you who did it if I wanted to." She leans across the counter, so close her snakes could probably bite my face. I can hear the quiet hissing. "Just between you and me," she whispers. "Did you steal the Master Bolt?"

"W-what?" I breathe, my body tensing up.

"I am a monster, Percy, and I have no love for my grandfather or his rule. I will not betray you if you tell me you did it... though, by the same token, I will not turn my back on you if you didn't."

I still have no idea what to say. I'm just sitting there and hyperventilating.

"Maybe it would be wiser not to talk about this. You might be a master planner, and know everyone on your side and exactly what their goals are. Perhaps you've worked out every step of your scheme to perfection, and if so, I won't push you. But if that's not true, I think you could use some advice. I've been around a long time, I have no strong allegiance to anyone but Arachne, and I'd like to see you make more of yourself than just another pawn of the Olympians. Let me help you do that."

"Okay." I take a deep breath, try to get my thoughts in order, and then the words just start spilling out. "I didn't take the Master Bolt. I don't know who did. I didn't even know what it was until people started telling me I stole it!"

"What do you know?" she asks, leaning back.

"I don't know anything! I didn't believe the gods were real before camp. I had... some hints, mostly from monsters attacking me, but I didn't catch on. And I didn't know who my father was until he claimed me."

"You might not know the big picture things, but you know exactly what's happened to you. Your true story. And that's what I'm really curious about. I've heard rumors, but I know better than to trust third or fourth-hand monster gossip."

"I know... that the God of the Underworld has been mad at me for a while," I say haltingly. "He sent one of the Kindly Ones after me months ago, and all three yesterday. The... what did we call him... oh, whatever. The Minotaur came after me on the way to camp, too. He killed my mom, and she dissolved into gold. I think Grover said that was the God of the Underworld too. A hellhound attacked me in camp, right before Dad claimed me – Chiron said that had to be someone in camp, maybe it's the leaker you mentioned. And the king shot the bus I was riding with lightning and blew up all my stuff."

"That's interesting," Medusa says, looking up at the ceiling as she thinks. "I'm surprised Hades hasn't sent you any demands yet."

"What could he possibly demand from me?!" I ask. "Why would I do anything for him when he killed my mom?!"

"He did... but not the way you think," Medusa says, leaning on the counter. "When a mortal enters the Underworld through the front door, its king seldom lets them leave. But a mortal woman killed by the Minotaur does not vanish into gold. She would simply have died, and left an ugly corpse behind. The Minotaur could certainly have finished the job, but she entered the Underworld through the side instead. That means its god wants to bargain. He has a hostage, but he would be willing to give her back. There must be something he wants you to do in exchange."

"But what could he possibly want from me?"

"I don't know." Then she smiles. "Finish with your story and maybe I'll have some ideas."

"Chiron told me that the king was mad because he thought I'd stolen the Master Bolt. He thinks the God of the Underworld might be the real thief, and... I've had some dreams that make me think that might be true."

"What dreams?" she asks, suddenly sounding a little worried. "Demigod dreams often have meaning, especially with fate wrapped around you as it is, so what exactly have you dreamed about?"

"A voice from the underworld... from the pit. A man's voice. It wants the Master Bolt. It wants me to help it. And I don't think it's friendly."

"Ah..." She seems speechless, and turns back to flip the pancakes I think for a distraction more than anything. "There are things in the Underworld far, far worse than Hades, Percy," she finally says, and her tone is light, but her snakes are writhing and hissing at each other. She doesn't like that, not at all.

"Dead things?" I ask hopefully.

"You tell them so, see how it works out for you."

"Do you know the god of the Underworld?" I ask. "You used his name."

"The Underworld is far more welcoming to monsters than here, so I'm not on bad terms with him. I particularly get along with his wife Persephone – she often orders my statues." She smiles, though it's still rather vacant. "But I find the Underworld is even less to my taste than Atlantis... and, I'll admit, even I think they might go too far with their taste for the macabre."

"So why do you think he's attacking me?"

"He feels that my grandfather treats him poorly, and would never defend his honor. He would not seek revenge on you even if he believed you took the Bolt. Perhaps he thinks you do have the Bolt, and wants it for himself. But that, too, is uncharacteristic of him. If he fears being accused himself, or wishes to spur on the conflict between your uncle and your father... attacking you would serve neither of those purposes." As she gets deeper into thought, her snakes start to settle down again. She checks on the pancakes, then looks back to me. Not quite ready yet. "I can't say for certain why he's doing what he is. I haven't spoken to him. But my best guess is that the theft of the Master Bolt is not the only thing that's been blamed on Poseidon lately. Not the only thing that's been blamed on you."

That's... not good. One god mad at me is enough. "Wouldn't we know if someone had done something bad to him?"

"Perhaps not. The God of the Underworld is the most secretive and vengeful of the Big Three. Where the king screams and wails when someone crosses him, he is more likely to silently fume... and to scheme."

Now the pancakes are done. Medusa puts them on a plate, drizzles them with syrup, adds that little pat of butter that pancakes always have in the movies. And I almost start eating them, I almost enjoy an absolutely delicious breakfast without worrying about any of this, but then I look at her and I remember her asking if I'd taken the Master Bolt, and I just blurt something stupid. "How do I know that you didn't steal the Master Bolt?

Uh oh. For a moment, I expect her to go nuclear on me, but instead she laughs. "I'm not mad, Percy." Did I go white? I must have. "I would do something like that if I thought I had a chance to get away with it. Besides, I'm trying to get you to think for yourself. I can't object when you question me, too. And, you know... it would make sense for a conspirator to befriend you during your quest, and I've been acting far nicer than my reputation would suggest. Maybe you should be cautious about me. So how about you think through it. What would my goal be, if I'd stolen the Bolt? And what would I be doing now to achieve that goal?"

I blink. "I, uh... I dunno."

"Take your time. Eat your pancakes while you're thinking it over. But I'm certain you'll come up with something good."

I do think about it, as I eat my pancakes. (They're delicious, of course.) And much to my surprise, I do come up with some ideas. They might even be sorta okay.

I don't say anything about it until I'm done, even when the words start tickling at my lips. But when I'm finished, when I've washed the maple syrup down with my milk, I turn to her and talk.

"You don't like your mother," I say. "You don't like your grandfather, and you don't like his wife. But you're fine with my dad and my other uncle." She nods, a smile tugging at her lips. "I think your goal, if you stole the Master Bolt, would be to start a war where the king and the queen and your mom are fighting everyone else. They'd lose, my dad and the rest would win, you'd stop having to deal with them, and the world might even be a little nicer for monsters afterward."

"Not a bad guess," she says. "I would very much like that. What would I do now to get it? What should you watch out for?"

"Well, I'm a son of Poseidon. You like him, so you wouldn't want to frame me. But Annabeth's your sister, so you might want to frame her. You might even want to frame her for trying to frame me." My words get faster as I start to get into it. "We're going to the Underworld, so you can drag its ruler into this, too. Make it look like the king is going for my dad, that it's a plan your mom came up with, and if the Lord of the Dead doesn't stop this now, he'll be next. You could hide something incriminating on her person somehow, but I'm not sure that'd be enough if she doesn't know how it got there and can't give any more clues. You'd want her to either act suspicious or maybe confess when he gets mad at her... but I'm not sure how. Is there a way to brainwash her?"

"Not that I can use. I don't think even the Olympians can do enough to pull that off."

"Well... she could be working with you voluntarily," I say, my train of thought suddenly going down a whole new set of tracks. "When I met her this summer, she was frustrated and rude and desperate for a quest. She could be persuaded. But then she'd have to have faked her whole reaction to you, and it seemed genuine. Plus you'd have to find some way to promise her that my dad or my uncle wouldn't leave her a scorch on the pavement – she'd want to live. If this is a charade for the benefit of the God of the Underworld, you can't be working with him, but maybe if you're working with my dad? It'd still be risky... or you could convince me to do the acting instead?"

She nods, and I keep going.

"But you haven't mentioned that yet, have you?" She doesn't say anything as my eyes suddenly lock with hers. "Are you going to? I like Annabeth!"

"I am not. But well reasoned." She reaches forward and ruffles my hair. "Keep thinking about things this way, and you'll be wise before too long." She pulls out a wet wipe and hands it to me. "Clean your hands up and I'll show you my photo album."

I have no idea what a monster's photo album would have in it, but I'm curious to find out. I wipe my hands, she throws the napkin away behind the counter, and then she sets an old photo album on the counter in front of me. I slowly, carefully open it, the leather of its cover creaking as it goes.

The very first photo, taking up a whole scrapbook page, is of Medusa and a woman who can only be Arachne. Their arms are around each others' shoulders, and they're both absolutely beaming.

Like Medusa, Arachne was clearly very beautiful when she was human. Her features and her still-human chest look almost sculpted, shapely but muscular, sorta like an older Annabeth. But she clearly isn't human any longer.

Her torso is draped in a modern evening dress, and it looks mostly normal except for the four arms. One pair has rather wicked-looking claws. Her human-like upper body emerges from the massive lower body of a spider, eight legs and all, covered in fuzzy-looking hair, patterned in black and red. I see four eyes on her face – a set of big ones and a set of small ones about where human eyes would go – and then spot what I think are two more on her temples. She probably has eight, like her children do, but I can't see the last two.

Like Medusa, she's lost all the features that point her out as a daughter of Athena. Her hair is now jet black, sleek and shiny and visibly coarser than human hair usually is, and her eight eyes are solid black too, no more gray to be seen.

"I like to stare at Arachne, too," Medusa says knowingly, and my face heats up.

"Hey! I just... you've told me so much about her... I was curious!" I hastily flip the page, only to see Medusa and Arachne again. This photo looks old – Medusa in particular is dressed very '60s, down to the tie-dye shirt. And this time there's someone else in between them.

He's a man with a thin, athletic build, probably in his twenties. He has lots of eyes, like Arachne, but they're yellow and slitted like Medusa's. He has curly black hair and fangs and purple markings on his face. Four arms, but human legs. He looks like both of them, I realize.

"Who's this?" I ask.

"He's one of our children. His name was Tim. He was a monster, like us, and a pediatrician in New York City." She leans on the counter, reminiscing. "Our first child to learn human medicine. He was a good doctor, too, though every once in a while he'd run into a demigod or a clear-sighted mortal and then things would get awkward."

"Neat," I say, looking at his face. Then I realize something about how she phrased that. "Was?"

"He was mortal. All of our children are. He died a few years back."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. He was a good son, he lived a good life, and I know Hades is treating him well." She sighs, finding her coffee mug again and refilling it. "I have grown used to mortal death over my very long life. Tim lived as well as any mortal can, and that is all I can ask."

I nod, and then change the subject. "How do you and Arachne even have kids? Aren't you both women?"

"Oh, so you have had the Talk," Medusa drawls, and I make a face. "But it's very different for us monsters. And quite a bit longer." She lets that hang there for just a moment before she smiles. "You don't need to know the details."

"I don't want to know the details," I say forcefully, and she laughs – just as the door opens with a jingle. My head turns around like I'm taking food money and Gabe just cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Em!" says a guy in a checkered shirt, overweight but friendly. "Who's the little kid?"

"My young cousin is visiting," Medusa says easily. I notice her accent has gotten thicker again – she's putting it on, I suppose. "His name is Percy. I'm showing him some old family photos."

"Nice to meet you, little guy," he says, not focusing on me too much. "I'd just like the usual, Em," he says, and she cracks some eggs onto the griddle before serving him a coffee.

While Medusa sees to him, I keep looking through the photo album. Sometimes I ask her more questions, quietly when the customer is here and then louder once he leaves. It's a fascinating album. It seems like she's met every monster recorded in myth, and a lot that aren't. Sometimes the photos are actually copies of portrait paintings that could be hundreds of years old, or art that must be ancient Greek or maybe Roman. Some of the photos show my family. There's one in particular taken under the sea, in front of an arched, swooping seashell building. My dad is holding hands with Medusa, a bubble of air around her head, and another woman – Amphitrite, she says, my stepmother – is glaring at her, exaggerated to the point that it looks fond again. It's the first time I've ever seen a photograph of him, and I can't help but smile. He looks so much like me.

Her sisters Stheno and Euryale show up, but not recently – Medusa says some heroes killed them, and they haven't gotten back out of Tartarus yet, and she dearly hopes they haven't faded down there.

"Faded?" I echo.

"When an immortal vanishes from the world and is not reborn, whether from starvation or despair or simply weariness." She leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, her voice very sad. "The fate of far too many of us in these later years."

That's when I hear a banging on the windows behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Grover knocking on the glass and waving. He finally found us.

"Is this your satyr?" Medusa asks, and I nod. But once he notices her, he looks absolutely panicked. His head turns toward the ground and he focuses hard on the cement patio before bulling through the door, the bell jangling as he enters, his flying shoes squeaking on the linoleum. I spin around on my stool to face him.

"Percy, this is not the time to be bamboozled by the Mist! That's Medusa!"

"I... I know," I say, and Grover screeches in wordless confusion. "It's all right, Grover, she's nice."

"She killed my uncle Ferdinand!" he wails. "I saw him out back. Completely turned to stone!"

I raise an eyebrow and look over my shoulder.

"I... did turn a satyr into a garden gnome recently," Medusa admits. "In my defense, he was threatening to bring the fury of the Wild down upon me. I was just going to offer him my tin cans." I suppose she would have to defend herself as a monster, but I still don't like it. "Sometimes my reputation precedes me. But then, how many satyrs has the Lord of the Sky fried lately?"

"He's been having a good few years," Grover says uneasily, still looking down at the floor instead of at her. "Mr. D, too."

"I guess that's progress," Medusa says mockingly.

She reaches down behind the counter and comes up with a blue plastic recycling bin absolutely full of cans that jangles as she sets it down. Enticingly, I assume, because Grover's eyes flick upward just enough to see them. Then again. And again. He must not have eaten anything since the bus.

"Yes, you can have them," she says, just a hint of a smile on her lips. "Just sit in one of the booths so you don't have to rely too much on the Mist. I might get another customer this morning."

"Okay." He walks up to the counter as if to take the cans, but first he sidles up to me. "Are you all right? Where's Annabeth?" he whispers into my ear.

"I'm fine. And she's still asleep, I think." I frown. It's gotten pretty late. We'd be awake at camp already. "Or maybe she snuck out. She was kinda nervous..."

"I would have heard that," Medusa says. She looks up toward the ceiling, smiling slightly. "She'll be downstairs very soon."

"You sure you don't want to check?" Grover is still whispering, even though Medusa can clearly hear him.

"I don't want to wake her up," I say. "She went to sleep with her knife in her hand."

Grover squirms, his heroism apparently at war with his fear of getting stabbed. The fear must win, because he grabs the bin of cans off the counter and walks off toward one of the booths like Medusa said to.

He's only just started to munch when the staff door swings open and Annabeth steps out, wearing her clean clothes with her knife still in her hand. "Percy!" she calls. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine," I reassure her. "And Grover is here!" He waves from his booth, his mouth already stuffed with aluminum. "I already finished breakfast and everything." Then I pause, remembering my conversation with Medusa earlier. "She... hasn't made any evil plans with you, right?"

She gives me such an unimpressed look it's all I can do not to giggle. "Your head is full of kelp."

"Would you like something to eat, child?" Medusa asks her.

"Yes, please," she says, back to being polite at the prospect of another meal on a quest. She plops onto the stool next to me, and eyes Medusa's photo album thoughtfully before looking back to her. "I'd... like a menu."

Medusa hands her a red vinyl-wrapped menu, and she starts to leaf through it. "Why are you so nice to us?" Annabeth asks. "It can't all be about Percy's dad. I've never met a monster that hasn't tried to eat me before."

"That's certainly not true," Medusa says, gesturing to the booth at the corner of the room. "Grover's a monster."

He bleats unhappily before choking down more cans. "Technically," he says, once his mouth is empty. "Technically satyrs are monsters."

"That is what matters," she says, before looking back to us. "Do either of you know the technical definition of a monster? Not just fangs, claws, and a bad attitude." She doesn't respond, but I shake my head, and Medusa apparently takes that as confirmation enough. "A monster is a being aligned with the Greek pantheon that requires Tribute to live, but has not been granted a share in the Heart of the Pantheon." She notices my look of confusion, her eyes making brief but scary contact with mine. "You don't even know what Tribute is, do you?"

"No," I admit, shaking my head. We're interrupted for a second as Annabeth orders her breakfast, but Medusa goes back to talking as she works the griddle.

"Tribute... you can think of it as a kind of energy," she says. "It's what powers your abilities, what gods and monsters and I use to power our very lives. It comes from worship, fear, or awe. Reverence toward us personally, and the presence of our domains in the world. It can be gifted by the gods – that is where Grover's Tribute comes from, the God of the Wild and your camp's Mr. D. And it comes from what they call the Heart of the West. I don't know exactly how that works. Some part of its power is driven by Tribute for the gods as a whole, and by the whole world and everything in it as its domain. But they say there's more to it than that. Your parents would know the details, but there are rules – they can't tell you."

"So... I have Tribute, too?"

"A share in your father's," Medusa confirms – and then she smirks again, looking over her shoulder at us. "And that is why monsters often want to eat you. Because you are tasty little morsels of Tribute, and we are so often very close to starving."

"You can starve?"

"Mortal monsters can. And us immortals can fade."

"But you haven't faded," Annabeth cuts in. "So we know you eat demigods too."

"I did, during the Starving Age. Even the greatest of gods struggled not to fade in medieval times. The things they got up to in those years..." She shakes her head. "But I already told you I haven't eaten a demigod unprovoked in a long time."

"How?" Annabeth asks. "Why don't you starve, then?"

"Even without a share in the Heart of the Pantheon, I still receive Tribute directly to me... and I am a very well-known monster. There are people who know my name who don't know your parents'. I also share the domain over snakes." She reaches up again to scratch one of hers under its chin, and it hisses happily. "Which are lovely. I am very much rolling in Tribute."

"So gods are like monsters, but they do have a share in the Heart of the West?" I ask. "But then what are we? I mean, demigods?"

"That is indeed what defines a god," Medusa says. "And demigods are neither, for you do not rely on Tribute as we do. If your godly parents were to fade tomorrow, and your supply of Tribute cut off – that won't happen, but if it did – then you would live on, though diminished. Your abilities would vanish, and the Mist would fully veil you once more, affecting even your memories. It would be as if your life as a half-blood were but a dream, gossamer-thin and easily lost."

"That sounds terrible!" Annabeth says.

"Yes, but it's better than dying," Medusa says morosely. Neither of us really has much to say to that.

Annabeth, despite herself, looks at some of Medusa's photos with me while her breakfast is still cooking. But it doesn't take long before Medusa has a steaming plate balanced atop her hand – a full breakfast that smells delicious, eggs and toast and sausage and all. "Here you are," she says, setting it down in front of Annabeth... before she plucks her photo album off the table and sets it back behind the counter. "I'm sorry," she says, seeing the look on our faces. "But I don't want any crumbs getting in my album."

I'm sure Annabeth would be cross, if Medusa weren't a legendary monster. Instead she just thanks her for the food and starts eating.

"You can see more next time," Medusa says. Then her expression dims. "Are you still planning to continue with your quest?"

"I have to," I say. "Or there'll be war. I mean, I've been blamed for this. My father might die. My mom maybe already has." I scowl down at the counter. "I'll definitely die."

"You're probably right," Medusa says, sounding glum. I look up only to see that she, too, is looking down. "Still, it might be kinder to make gnomes of you all."

Grover startles in the corner, and Annabeth's hand goes to the sheath of her knife. This is not what anyone wants to hear from Medusa. "What's kind about that?" I ask hoarsely.

"War is coming, over more than just the Master Bolt. There are whispers on the wind, children, ill omens and portentous dreams. If you live to see this through, you may well wish you hadn't."

"Why?" Annabeth asks, once she swallows a bite of egg. "What's happening?"

"I don't know. No one has yet offered me a place in their schemes. I'm too young to know the truly ancient ones well. But it has been long enough since the last long-toppled Titan or Primordial has scraped themselves up from the dust of Tartarus, and set about trying to rule the world again." Her eyes glide across the two of us before returning to the counter. "I had thought it might be the Earth... but not yet. Perhaps she'll go after the victors."

Annabeth and I share a look. Bad omens from a monster who's thousands of years old... I'd be a fool if I weren't scared.

"It will be especially bad for you, Percy. Even for a son of the sea, you are ever so powerful. I feel it in my bones, child. The Fates must be itching to have their way with you. Are you sure you don't want to give up? You know I cannot come with you."

"I'm not sure, not really," I say, squirming in my seat. "This quest has been pretty awful so far. Fighting the Kindly Ones and getting my bus blown up was bad enough. I like camp, and I... like being here too. I don't want to go back to fighting. I'm just me, and I don't know if I can do this." I take a deep breath, and look into her big yellow eyes. "But I can't stop, not now, not with my mom still in the Underworld."

She reaches out once again, and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You know, you're a good kid far more than a hero. I like that about you."

"Thanks, Medusa."

"Of course, Percy."

We talk a little more about the people and places in Medusa's photographs while Annabeth and Grover eat. But it doesn't take too long. They're both hungry.

"Thank you," Annabeth says, once she finishes her meal and wipes her hands. She looks back at Grover, who's probably been done for a while. Reluctantly, he gets up from the booth, empty recycling bin clutched in his hands like a teddy bear.

"Uh, thanks," Grover says, passing the bin back over the counter as he sits down on my other side, his gaze still firmly pointing downward. "Um. Medusa."

"You are both very welcome," she says with a smile. "I'm ready to take you onward, but... would you be willing to accept just a little more help from me on your journey? I have these magical items, you see. Circe helped make them, and Arachne, and I've been looking for some suitable demigods to give them to for quite a while. They would signal my favor, would hide your smell and keep the other monsters off your back. And, I assure you, they have many practical uses."

"Why?" Annabeth asks. "What's your motive?"

"They'll help you get comfortable with those claws and fangs you're so nervous about," she says, and two of her snakes grin at each other. "They'll keep you from forgetting me so easily, and show you what it's like to be a monster. And you'll need to swear a vow to me that you'll use them the right way. For the right reasons."

"If we don't?" Annabeth asks nervously. "Or if we break the agreement?"

"If you don't agree, I'll still drive you to the train station, give you enough to keep you going on your quest. And if you break the agreement, the item I mean to give you will return to me. So if you were depending on it, you might be out of luck." Annabeth raises an eyebrow, and I must look uncertain too, because she gives us both a placating smile. "It's not so onerous as all that. Let me show you."

She stands, walking to the staff door, and tells us she'll be back in a second before vanishing into the warehouse.

"So," Annabeth says, "who actually thinks sticking around for this is a good idea?"

"I do!" I say. "We could use more of her help on our quest. She's been nice. You liked your breakfast too, right? I'm not going to judge her just because she's a monster."

"She is a good chef," Annabeth admits. "I definitely missed diner food."

"Her cans are top-notch," Grover says. "She rinses them out like she's supposed to. And takes the labels off. No one does all that!" He lowers his voice and leans in. "But she's, you know. Medusa."

"Did she really turn your uncle into a garden gnome?" I ask.

"Yeah. But a lot of immortals aren't kind to satyrs," he says, wincing. "We still tell stories about the first year Mr. D came to camp."

"You still don't want to run?" Annabeth asks.

"If she were going to eat us she already would have," I say. Then I frown. "But if she gives us the gift of barbecue sauce I'll reconsider."

Medusa laughs as she sweeps back in through the staff door. "I do know some who would do that, but not this time." In her hand she holds three large silver rings, about big enough to fit a wrist or an ankle. "You can lick them if you must, to be certain." She looks around, then beckons for us to follow her. "Come in back. We probably shouldn't try this out in front of any customers."

We do, and she leads us to a corner of the warehouse with mirrors covering the walls. She holds the rings out to us.

"I brought one for you, Grover, but I doubt it'll work. You are, after all, already a monster."

"What do they do?" I ask, holding out my hand. Medusa smiles as she sets the silver ring into it. I hold it up to take a closer look. It's a snake biting its own tail, an ouroboros, and even though it looks like solid silver, it moves like a real snake in my hands, letting go of itself and then flicking its tongue at me curiously.

"This, Percy, will allow you to transform into any monster you wish," she says, and I take a sharp breath. That sounds so cool. "To be clear, this will only change your body. You will remain a demigod, will continue to receive Tribute from your parent. You won't be able to use any of our more esoteric abilities – no making gnomes. And you'll only be able to turn into monsters about your size and shape. As beautiful as she is, you will not be able to become Arachne. Nor a centaur, nor one of the Hundred-Handed. But there are many humanoid monsters... like me." I look up to her, and she's smiling, her snakes all watching with interest. "Put it around your ankle, and try it. Picture what monster you would like to be."

I lean down and put it on, the little metal snake biting itself again. I stand back up, then close my eyes and imagine – and with Medusa in front of me, it's no wonder I imagine a gorgon. I feel my body squishing around – most of the changes are on my head, naturally, but there are lots of little things too. Like, I can feel claws growing from my fingers.

When I open my eyes again and look in the mirror, I am Medusa in miniature.

"This is so cool!" I say. I raise a hand out in front of me, and my snakes turn toward it, hissing and flicking their tongues curiously. And I feel them doing it. Feel their bodies move, their little muscles rippling as they keep their heads steady. I can see through their eyes, three hundred and sixty degree vision even if the snakes' eyesight isn't so great. I even sense their thoughts. They're newborn and curious. They're not sure why they're attached to someone's head. With effort, I stop staring at myself and turn back to Medusa. "Thank you," I tell her, my smile so wide it hurts.

"You are very welcome, child," she says, and she's absolutely beaming.

"Uh, Percy?" Annabeth says, and it's clear she's trying not to laugh. "I think you might be a girl."

I look in the mirror again, then hurriedly pat myself down. She's right – I am a girl. I look back to Medusa, confused.

"Sorry, should have mentioned. Lots of monster species are all-female. Including gorgons." She rests a proud hand on her chest. "We're too pretty to be men."

I roll my eyes. Some of my snakes do, too, or hiss or glare or otherwise express my annoyance, which is very fun and makes me wish I could stay a gorgon, but I'm sure Annabeth wouldn't let me hear the end of it. So, instead, I picture one of the other kinds of monsters from Medusa's album – one I know can be male.

My body squidges around again. The biggest change is to my shoulders and chest. I can feel my bones rearranging, and when they're done two extra arms shoot out below my normal ones. It's oddly fast, like smushing a tube of toothpaste.

My vision changes, but I can still see all around me – in fact, I think I can see even better, my eight spidery eyes not quite as limited as the snake eyes were. I look in the mirror, and I'm just like one of Medusa's children – four-armed, eight-eyed, a little spidery and a little snakey. And I do actually seem to be a boy this time. I grin, then turn back to Medusa.

I do, however, now have four arms sticking out of two sleeves. It's not completely comfortable.

"Very nice," Medusa says. "Can I cut your shirt open?" I nod. After she hands Annabeth and Grover their anklets, she fetches a pair of scissors from a metal work table, cuts off my sleeves and opens the sides of the shirt up to a few inches below my second armpits. "There are a few monster tailors in New York if you ever want anything that fits better. Sorry if that was sloppy. Weaving may be Arachne's favorite hobby, but it isn't mine."

"I think this might be fashionable, actually," I say, assessing the cuts. "Luke did the same thing to his shirts and he doesn't even have four arms."

"Don't want to fly?" Annabeth teases. She's put her own anklet on and turned herself into a harpy, golden feathers matching her blonde hair perfectly. She fully extends an arm, the feathers fanning out as she does. She looks really pretty. I mean, she always does... but especially now. "I'm sure my grandpa would love it."

"Uh. No," I say, and Annabeth laughs.

"What species are you? I saw them in the album, but I don't recognize them."

"Arachne and I never came up with a species name," Medusa says casually. "They're just our children. And we're very glad they've stayed out of the myths so far."

"Interesting," Annabeth says. "I didn't realize it was that easy to make new species."

"So what's this oath you were talking about?" Grover asks. He's put his on too, around his wrist because I guess he doesn't have much ankle, but Medusa was right – it doesn't do anything for him. He hands it back.

"It goes like this," Medusa says. "I swear on the gift that Medusa gave me that I will not attack a monster for glory, or fame, or the acclaim of my friends, but only in defense of myself, of another, or of my pantheon."

I nod. That seems reasonable, even lenient.

"That means we won't be able to take a quest like Luke's," Annabeth says. "Fetching an apple from the Garden of the Hesperides wasn't in defense of anyone."

"I don't think you should take a quest like that. But if you decide you must, the only penalty would be my gift disappearing. And my ire. Don't expect more burgers unless you have a very good excuse."

"But you will still let us kill monsters?" I ask.

"I can't ask you to never kill a monster, for the same reason I can't promise to never kill a demigod. Sometimes it's them or us." She pauses, assessing us. "Will you do it?"

"Yes," I say.

We swear the oath right there, Annabeth and I. Standing in the middle of the warehouse while Grover watches nervously. He seems more worried about me than about Annabeth. That confuses me for a while... until I look in the mirror, and remember just how much more monstrous I look than her. She just has harpy wings. I have eight eyes, four arms, claws and fangs and the works.

I guess I really am in Medusa's shoes now, huh?

"Thank you both," Medusa says, shaking my hand and then Annabeth's. "I hope you keep your oaths." She looks up to an old plug-in clock on the wall, its cord dangling in a little loop below. "Next train's in forty-five minutes. We should probably get moving soon."

Chapter Text

Medusa locks up the store, then puts a leather jacket on over her waitress uniform. We pile into her car, the beautiful yet ominous black Cadillac parked by one of the warehouse's roll-up doors. Annabeth and I both sit up front, next to Medusa on the red leather bench seat. Grover sits in back, still nervous.

Then the car purrs to life, gliding gently out of the warehouse and through the gate. The lonely country road her shop is on looks much more pleasant in the daytime, picturesque and tree-lined. Which is good, because she says we'll be on it for a while.

Annabeth and I are still monsters. No mirrors in here, but I'm still fascinated, looking down at my four arms and using my claws to pick at the little scales on my wrists. There aren't a lot, scattered across my skin, but they're sea-green and shiny, almost like my eyes.

"So I guess we shouldn't use these around mortals?" Annabeth asks, feeling at her feathers.

"That's not a problem," Medusa says, focused on the road in front of her. It doesn't look like such a fun road to drive on – the lanes are narrow, and the road twists and curves and goes up hills. "The Mist will work for you just like it would any other monster – even better than using your own faces, I think. But don't wear them around the gods. They might be offended."

"Good idea," Annabeth says, nodding firmly. I guess she really wouldn't want her mom knowing about this.

For a while, Annabeth and Grover and I just chat about plans for the quest. But a few miles down the road, at a lull in the conversation, Medusa chimes in again.

"So one thing I heard from my monster friends," she tells me. "Percy, apparently you're... rather mouthy, to the monsters and gods you meet?"

"You want me to be more respectful?" I ask, surprised. Medusa's not the first person to tell me that. Or the hundredth. But I didn't expect it from her.

"Not exactly. I mean, one of the people they say you sassed was Mr. D, and I think that's great. I'm not respectful all the time. Hardly ever, really. When someone demands I grovel, I do the opposite."

"Even with the Olympians?" Annabeth asks.

"Especially the Olympians."

"You think that might be why you have snakes for hair?" Annabeth asks.

"Yes," Medusa says, looking away from the road and grinning at us, though I can't help but notice her snakes still focused on the windshield. "And it was worth it. But there are different kinds of rudeness. Groveling is treating someone as your master. But you can also address someone as your equal, or as your lesser. What you do when you speak casually to a god is treat them as an equal. No wonder they hate that. But what you do when you yell at a monster is treat them as your lesser. And us monsters are used to being demeaned as a prelude to being decapitated." I snort, but she's not wrong, is she? "Naturally, we won't wait around for the killing blow. We'll just start fighting."

"But monsters will attack us no matter how nice we are!" Annabeth objects.

"I didn't attack you," Medusa says. "But it's true that not every monster can be reasoned with. Some of us are too dumb or too starving to do anything but try to eat. Some of us are still nursing ancient hatreds. And some of us have orders. I am indeed asking you to be kind to some who will try to kill you no matter what."

We've finally come to an intersection, off the long winding road. But there's still not a lot of traffic. Medusa only stops for a moment before driving on, working the manual transmission without any of the grinding Gabe gets in his Camaro.

"But if you assume every monster you meet is out to kill you, that is its own kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. And your oath demands you try harder than that."

I nod. It seems fair enough. "It's not like I'm better than them," I say. "Not when I've got four arms, too."

"That's the spirit," Medusa says, and she smiles.

It takes a little longer to reach the train station, but not too long. Medusa just parks right in the drop-off loop, perhaps trusting in the Mist to keep the cops away. She buys us rail passes – we'll have to change trains, but we'll be able to travel all the way to the West Coast. She gives us some money, too, enough for food. Plus a handful of gold drachmas. "Call me sometime, all right? And, yes, you can call your camp, too."

I hug Medusa, my four arms wrapping right around her. "Thank you," I say. "For everything."

"You are very welcome," she says warmly, and once again her words are accented and her voice sounds very old. "Good luck to you, child."

~~

We're set to spend more than three days riding two trains, and all I can do is relax. It's deceptively peaceful, even though I can feel the time ticking away as we go – like sand from an hourglass, a steady stream pouring across my back. There'll be war if we don't finish this quest in time, but there's nothing that'll make this go any faster than just staying on the train. Doesn't stop me from being antsy. I halfway expect Amtrak to try and charge me for the holes I'm wearing in their carpet from pacing.

About the only time I sit still is when I find something new about my monster form to marvel at. I spent five minutes just watching my claws extend and retract. It feels good, and something about the motion is oddly hypnotic.

Medusa paid for the sleeper car, so it's a nice ride. The couches in our cabin are comfy, whenever I actually sit down. The food is way better than I expected, and there's something in me that likes the rhythmic motion and soft noises of a train. Maybe it's enough like a boat for my Poseidon-kid instincts.

Annabeth shows me how to see the way the Mist is disguising me – I have to look in the mirror and sorta forget that I'm seeing myself, let the wool fall over my eyes even though I know better. We both tweak how we look a little. She turns herself into adult supervision, a grown-up version of herself, to try and keep people from worrying about all us kids alone on a train. I would, too, but I have to share a bunk with Grover, and it's tight even without me getting taller. No worse than the Hermes cabin, but still tight.

I'm not good at controlling the Mist, she's way better, but it does respond to monsters more, so pressing my hands to my head and pretending like I'm bending spoons in a movie turns me into a lanky blonde kid who no one at all will connect me with Percy Jackson. Which is good, because some tourist snapped a photo of me at that bus Zeus blew up. I'm still in the papers.

We figure out how to switch the couches into bunks. Grover and I pick the bottom one, while Annabeth sleeps up top.    Not sure when we'll actually go to bed, though. The sun hasn't even set yet.

"Percy," Grover says, shaking my shoulder. I can see him just fine behind me, but I still turn away from the window – I've been pretty glued since I saw two Scythian Dracaena sitting on an embankment fishing and laughing at each other – to face him where he's kneeling on the bunk looking nervous. "You haven't stopped being a monster since we left Medusa."

"Neither have you," I say, and Grover sighs. "It does hide my smell, right? And it stops me from being recognized?"

"It does, but..." He fidgets uncomfortably, the bed squeaking beneath him. "Percy, you shouldn't want to be a monster! I think you better turn back before you go to bed."

"Why shouldn't I want to be a monster?" I say, folding both pairs of arms. "It's nice having four arms, and being able to see all around me, and it's practical! Enemies can still sniff me out in my sleep, right?"

"They can," Grover admits, fidgeting.

"I remember all the monsters we ran into getting to Camp Half-Blood," Annabeth says, leaning down from her bunk, her feathered arms dangling. "Not sure I wanna bet they can't catch a train..."

"And it's cool!" I say, spreading my four palms. "Medusa was nice and I'm glad she helped us."

Grover bleats unhappily. "Annabeth?"

"I still don't like Medusa," she says, pulling herself back up to her bunk. It creaks. "But it's not like I can stop him. At least he's a Poseidon kid. My mother can't be happy with me..." She sighs, then turns off the light up there. "We should get some sleep."

After Grover and I share a mutually unhappy look, we do.

~~

I step back into the observation deck of the Gateway Arch. Annabeth just had to see it when we stopped in St. Louis, but she's already going down – not enough room on the tram for me. I don't love it up here. It's a cramped tin can stuck in the sky, with an unnervingly curved floor. But the view is neat, and I can even get all the space at the window I could want. It's closing, so there are only six others here, counting the fat lady's Chihuahua.

The river stretches out beneath me, a mostly brown squiggle criss-crossed by bridges, its other bank honestly looking pretty crummy. But I guess that's the view you get in St. Louis.

I only look away at the sound of a high-pitched but friendly bark. "Hello, little guy," I say, turning around to see the Chihuahua looking up at me, his tail wagging. I look up to his owner. "May I pet him?"

"You can. He's well-trained, and he won't bite you. But you might not want to."

I frown. Something is off about this. "Why not?"

"I take it the Mist still veils you," she says, a forked tongue flicking between her teeth. "Look at me. Really look at me."

I do, focusing like I'm seeing my disguise in the mirror and I want my true self. And as I do, the woman and her dog shift in my perception – they're not really changing, but for the first time, I can see them.

The woman has green, scaled skin, a forked tongue, clawed hands, the bulky build of a monster. Even a tail, one that trails around her dog... her once-dog, because it is even more different than she'd been. It's huge, so tall its back rubs against the curved roof. It has the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and a snake coming out of its hind end. It's not a Chihuahua at all, it's a creature of myth... though I don't remember which one.

"Oh," I say nervously, sitting down on the carpeted ledge by the window. "I, uh." I have absolutely no idea how to respond to this, and after a few moments my brain defaults to pleasantries for no reason I can think of. "Hi. I'm Percy. What's your name?"

"I am Echidna, Mother of Monsters, and this is one of my Chimeras." She looks me over, her slitted eyes uncertain. "You smell like Medusa, and you look like one of her children. But I know you're Percy Jackson. How did this come about?" She pauses, a stormy look passing over her face. "If you killed her, I will be furious."

"No! No, we ran into Medusa by accident – we were walking through the woods when we saw her home, and we needed a place to stop – and she was nice, and she told us her story, she even let us stay the night, and... I think she wants us demigods to be kinder to you? She gave me this anklet thing that lets me change, lets me look like this, and in exchange I swore not to attack any monster except to defend myself, someone else, or my pantheon." I blink, remembering what situation I'm in. "I... won't have to, right?"

"I see." She smiles, her fangs poking out. Her mouth is shaped quite differently from Medusa's, but it is still very familiar. "I heard she wanted to try something like that. Wasn't expecting her to pick the king's latest target as her protegé, though." Something in her smile softens, and she hides her fangs. "Medusa's always been a dreamer. Still young at heart after all these years. Don't forget how generous she's been to you."

"I promise I won't. But you didn't answer my question."

"Of course I won't attack you unprovoked," Echidna says. "I never like it when the man upstairs sends me after twelve-year-olds. I was already going to give you a fighting chance. But now that I see you're a little spider?" She reaches forward, and her clawed hand ruffles my stiff monstery hair. "I'm not that kind of monster."

I look to her, and then to the Chimera, and then I frown. "You were going to give me a fighting chance? I barely know how to fight!"

"Well, that's why we're up here. You can run away." She gestures to the window behind me. "Look. The Mississippi River. Your perfect escape plan."

"But we're" – I double-check the signs – "six hundred and thirty feet in the air! At this height, hitting water is like hitting concrete!"

"You're Poseidon's son," she says confidently. "Water won't hurt you no matter how far you fall."

"But we're not right on the water, either," I say, tilting my head against the window to see the narrow strip of grass and pavement between us and the actual river. "I'm not sure I can jump that far..."

"The water will come and get you. Or you'll be pulled toward it, like a magnet. I've seen it happen before, and for children of Poseidon who smelled far less powerful than you. Plus you could give yourself wings, like your partner."

"Good point. But I don't know if my uncle would like that."

"He can't be too mad if it's just falling with style."

"It sure seems like he can always be mad."

She laughs darkly. "I wouldn't say that. Not when he grants me my Tribute."

"Oh." I remember Medusa's words: some of us have orders. "You won't be in trouble if you let me get away?"

"He didn't give me a direct order. That would end in hurricanes, tidal waves, and earthquakes. And as I do not believe you stole the Master Bolt, I don't have even an implicit order." She scowls. "Which is not to say he'll be pleased. But I'm too old to jump at anyone's whim. And I expect this will blow over soon."

The Chimera yelps, and we both turn – to see the park ranger trying to squeeze past him. Echidna gestures, and he steps aside. "The last tram is here," the ranger says. Then he blinks, looking between us. "Are you related?" he asks, but his voice is uncertain. I guess it's just the monster parts that make us similar. Since the Mist isn't letting him comprehend what he sees, he knows we look alike, but he doesn't know why or how.

"My great-nephew," she says proudly, and I turn toward her, realizing it must be true. Medusa talked about being a young monster, but Echidna definitely isn't. I did look up my dad, and that would make her Kronos or Rhea's sister. Or, you know, a Jackson. Somehow I doubt that. "Come, Percy."

I follow her into one of the elevator cars, me and her and the enormous Chimera. It's cramped. After the doors close and the car starts to move downward, a thought occurs to me.

"Can I pet him?" I ask.

"I don't think you can reach his head," Echidna says, smiling. "But he likes when you rub around his legs."

~~

"Are you going to make friends with every monster we meet?" Annabeth asks as we walk down the train car. I cringe. I didn't realize she'd be that mad hearing I met Echidna. It's not like she attacked us – Annabeth barely even saw her, we parted ways at the bottom of the arch!

"Yes?" I say. "If they let me. That's what we promised Medusa, remember?"

She huffs. "She didn't make us promise to be nice." She opens the bathroom door and ushers us all inside. If someone sees us, we'll be in trouble. And it's a tight fit, even with us all back in our human forms. Annabeth insisted, but I miss my second pair of arms already.

"Remind me what we're doing again?" I ask, as she shuts the door behind us.

"We're calling home," Grover says as he squeezes into the shower. Some fussing with the controls and the head, and mist sprays gently down. He hangs the head back up again, then squeezes back out.

"There's no sun," Annabeth observes.

"She won't mind," Grover says, digging through his pockets for one of the drachmas Medusa gave us. He holds it up. "O goddess, accept our offering," he says. A sunny glow suffuses the cramped shower from no source that I can tell. Then he hurls the coin in, and it vanishes. "Half-Blood Hill."

Chiron and Luke both appear in the rainbow, the other end of the Iris message, and Grover and Annabeth both positively beam with relief. They ask for a report, and Annabeth starts to give it. Everything is pretty much how I would expect... until, much to my surprise, she starts lying.

"When we realized who Medusa was... Percy wanted to run," she says, and her face looks normal but her hands are wringing. "He got away from Echidna, too. Percy doesn't want to fight."

"Percy's being nice to them!" Grover blurts. "Like, with Medusa, he—" Grover cuts off when Annabeth gives him a death glare. I guess that's part of what she wanted to hide.

"Really, Percy?" Chiron asks. "Why?"

"I just think it's better to be kind when I can," I say. "It seems like they don't all hate Poseidon, so I can get along with some of them. Besides, Medusa was nice! She made us hamburgers."

"We didn't know who she was yet," Annabeth stammers. Excuse-making isn't usually her style, and she's definitely looking at Luke as she says it. I try not to smirk.

"You can't trust monsters, Percy," Chiron says. "They might appear nice, but they could be trying to lull you into a trap. Even if they don't attack you immediately, they may well have a deeper plan."

"Aren't you a monster?" I ask. "Technically?"

That seems to take him aback. He blinks at me, his eyebrows raising. After a moment, though, he returns to a friendly smile. "You're not wrong, technically. But don't let that mislead you. Far more are like the Furies or the Minotaur than are like me."

"Are you nervous about using your sword?" Luke asks. "I know you only just started training, but you really are a natural. I don't know about Echidna, but I'm sure you'll have no trouble with most of the monsters you run into."

"I know. Anaklusmos feels really good in my hand. I'm sure I can fight with this. But I just..." I take a deep breath. "I mean, it's a sword. A weapon. When I use it, I want it to be because I'm protecting someone. Not because I'm in it for glory, or too afraid to talk first."

"You're a weird little demigod, Percy," Luke says, and his expression is oddly bitter. He looks way older than nineteen. "That's not how heroes are supposed to act. But you really want to change things, don't you?"

"Of course!"

"Mount Olympus has spent thousands of years killing anyone who tries to make them change," he says. His tone is dark and his face is weary – but there's something potent in it. "If I were you, I'd give up. Or find an army."

"Luke!" Chiron says. "Demigods have changed the course of history many times! Even the courses of the gods!"

"How long ago was that?" he grumbles. Then he holds his head up and smiles. The narrowing of Annabeth's eyes, though, tells me he might not be as genuine as he looks. "But don't let me get you down! If talking to monsters works for you, I can't stop you."

I laugh. "You won't," I say, and mean it both ways.

Just then the rainbow gets brighter and a chime rings out, and apparently that means the call is almost over, because the others say their goodbyes. I join in. It really will be nice to get back to camp. As fun as it is to meet people like Medusa and Echidna, and as nice as the quest has been after the Furies, I still miss Camp Half-Blood.

The others squeeze their way out of the bathroom. I don't follow.

"You have to go?" Annabeth asks, holding the door open.

"I want to call Medusa."

"Fine," she says, and shuts the door behind herself. I lock it with a click, and turn back into my new self. Then I turn the shower back on.

"Goddess, accept my sacrifice," I say, and flip my drachma into the mist. "Show me Medusa."

She appears in the mist, reading glasses perched on her nose as she types on a desktop computer. She's not wearing her veil or her sunglasses, and like before, it takes me a moment to get used to her piercingly yellow eyes. She turns toward me and smiles, fangs out.

"Percy!" she says, swiveling her chair toward me. "How's your quest been? I heard you ran into Echidna."

"Hi, Medusa," I say, smiling. "It's been good! Yeah, I met her at the top of the Gateway Arch..."

Before too long, I'm positively babbling about everything I saw on my quest, how much I like my four arms... anything I can think of, really.

It's not that talking to Chiron and Luke was bad or anything. And it's not that I don't like Annabeth or Grover. But it's great that I can talk to Medusa about everything. Even the monstery parts.

~~

We trudge away from the Tunnel of Love, nominally victorious – I'm holding Ares's shield in my arms. My two human arms, and I didn't expect to be as mad about that as I am. Honestly, I feel more defeated and unhappy than I've been all quest. "See?" I tell Grover and Annabeth. "The monsters are way nicer than the gods!"

Grover just looks glum, but Annabeth actually seems to be considering it, and that makes him panic. "They're not all like the god of war!" he swears.

"I'm not much happier with the god of the forge," I complain. "Seriously, what would happen to a mortal who walked into that booby trap?"

"Can we stop for a second?" Annabeth asks, cutting off Grover's retort. We turned back to human the moment we thought there might be a trap, but she turns into her usual harpy form now. I follow suit, and Grover pouts visibly. "I... want to try something." She looks at an old waterslide, the platform at its top looking rather grungy with its awning rotted through. She starts to walk up the stairs, but motions for us not to follow.

Once she's at the top, she spreads her wings, lets the hot breeze fill them up. She gives a few tentative flaps, hovers over the platform for a moment. And then she jumps off of the railing, and soars. For a moment, it seems like she's just going to glide to the ground, but as she starts to flap frantically, as she catches the wind in her wings, she glides back up, zooming around the foam mountain that some of the water slides are built into.

As she circles, she starts to laugh, more innocent than I've ever heard her. "This is so much fun! You sure you don't want to try, Percy?"

"I don't think I'll enjoy the lightning I'll catch if I try that," I say, though I can't help but smile as she flies in loops above us. "At least you're the king's granddaughter."

She flies around for a while. I climb the foam mountain with my four arms to play monster, beating my chest and roaring at her, foisting Ares's shield on Grover. But we do still have to get rid of that shield, and we figure he'll show up to check on us if we take too long. So we go human again, and head back to the diner where we met him.

I don't manage to control my tongue this time. I don't really want to.

But he does do three useful things for us. He gives us some supplies all wrapped up in a backpack – even some fresh clothes, which I need pretty badly. He confirms that my mom isn't dead, just like Medusa thought – that she's in the Underworld. Hades's hostage. And he magically fixes the broken-down train that had stranded us in Denver.

Joy.

It's an enormous relief when that bastard blasts off down the street on his motorbike, and I can turn back to my monstrous self and flip his dust the quadruple bird.

We board the train again, and before too long, we're back on Amtrak, on our final leg to Los Angeles. Hopefully.

"What are you looking for?" Annabeth asks, as I rummage through the backpack Ares had given us. I'm sitting on the bench in our cabin, her and Grover sitting on the opposite bench.

"I'm worried there's something wrong with it," I say. "Medusa said that whoever's responsible for this might try to meet us along the quest. You can imagine why the god of war might want to start a war. And if we show up in the Underworld with the Master Bolt, or with evidence that we took it, he'll get more than he could ever ask for."

"He didn't give us the Master Bolt," Grover says.

"No, but he did give us this bag, and everything in it. And I can't help but wonder if there's a trick." I rest my hand on the tough nylon of the backpack, and a tingle shoots up my hand, like pins and needles. "I feel something, when I touch this. I'm not sure it's normal."

Grover frowns. This, he's apparently willing to consider. He takes it, rests his hand on it, sniffs it, turns it upside down. "There... is something strange about it," he admits. "But I'm not sure what."

"Why weren't you this suspicious of Echidna?" Annabeth asks. "Or Medusa?"

"I considered it," I say. Then I laugh. "I actually asked Medusa if she stole the Master Bolt, but she said no, and I really don't think she did – I can't see why she would. And Echidna didn't do anything that could possibly get us in more trouble. She came because the king wanted to hurt me, and left because she decided she didn't."

She frowns. Apparently she can't think of anything suspicious they did either, because she just sighs. Then she switches bench, sitting down beside me.

"You were right before," she admits. "The monsters have been way nicer to us than the gods."

I smile. "So? You'll let me keep handling them my way?"

"I will," she agrees. "You can befriend every monster from here to LA if you want. But if I have to defend you, I will."

"Duh!" I say, and she laughs at me. "I'll defend myself if I have to!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," she says, and I just roll my eyes.

Chapter Text

The rest of our train journey is pretty quiet. Well, unless you count the old monster we meet in Arizona. He just shakes my hand and goes on his way. Grover won't admit it, but he's freaked. Not that I'd be afraid of anyone wearing those overalls.

Once we get to LA, I turn human right before walking into the surf at Santa Monica. Medusa passed along the invitation from my dad. I speak to a nereid, a member of the Atlantean court. She gives us my father's wishes, and a gift – three pearls, in case something goes wrong.

Then we start walking the streets, and it becomes increasingly clear we're lost. I know we're looking for DOA Studios – the Underworld's main entrance in LA – but it seems like mortals maybe don't see it, at least not the normal way, because nobody has any idea where it is. Night starts to fall, and the streets start getting grimmer. Grover gets nervous, but I don't think three monsters really need to worry about staying out after dark.

Then again, the mortals can't see us as we are.

"Hey, you," comes a voice from the darkness, and before long, we're surrounded by a gang of six. They're kids. Rich white mean kids, just like at Yancy. They're not real gangsters. They're not real anything. If they could see through the Mist, they'd be crapping their pants.

Their leader does have a switchblade, though. And I don't have any weapons that'll hurt them – Riptide is Celestial Bronze, it won't work. No weapons except the fangs and claws Medusa gave me. I can't exactly show those off... except, maybe I can. At the Gateway Arch, the park ranger didn't realize we were monsters, but he could still tell that Echidna and I looked alike. So if I threaten them... maybe they'll be able to tell that they don't want to mess with me, even if they don't know why.

I look the leader right in the eye. I spread my four hands, claws springing out, and bare my fangs. "You really want to try it?" I say, and there's a hunger in the words that surprises even me.

Some of them start to back away... but not all of them. I need more, just a little bit more. I reach inside myself, looking for that part of me that sprayed Clarisse with toilet water. There are no toilets here – but, instead, magic crackles over me for just a second, dancing over me like heat, red sparks shooting from my skin.

That does it. Even the leader pales. And when the others start to turn tail, he goes with them.

"I... didn't know you could project fear," Annabeth says, watching the kids go with widened eyes.

"I didn't either," I admit. "You've seen it before?"

"A lot of monsters can do that," Annabeth says. Then she frowns. "Except Grover, apparently?"

"You've never seen me with a litterbug," Grover says bashfully, shuffling his hooves.

"The gods do it too," Annabeth says. "Hades's Helm has an effect sorta like that, but way, way stronger."

"Hopefully he doesn't use it on us," I say, as we start to walk. We round a corner, and then immediately freeze again.

Medusa must have been right that the Mist treats monsters better than demigods. We spent hours fruitlessly searching as demigods, but not two minutes after I showed enough monster to scare away those kids, we find just what we're looking for. DOA Studios stands at the end of the block. Its name is written in huge gold letters across the building's black marble face. We found it. It looks nothing like what I expected of the Underworld, and yet exactly right.

With some reluctance, I shed my monstrous form as I look up at it. "Here we go," I say, and we all share a nervous look.

~~

We collapse onto the ground in the relative safety of a poplar grove, solid black like someone dipped it in tar. I suppose that's some instinct in us looking for shade or shelter, even though there's no sun and no rain down here.

Grover's flying shoes tried to fly him straight to Tartarus, and then the gaping hole that is its entrance tried to suck us down like a great vacuum. It didn't succeed, but it was close.

"What was that?" Grover asks.

Annabeth and I share a look. She might have some guesses... but apparently she's not ready to share.

"Medusa was right," I say, taking a break after the words to breathe heavily. I'd been sprinting as fast as I could to get out of there. "Whatever I was dreaming of, it's not the King of the Underworld." My head turns toward Hades' palace, its walls visible across the Fields of Asphodel. "He doesn't live in Tartarus."

"Someone sabotaged those shoes," Annabeth says. "Someone at camp." Then she frowns. "Or Medusa."

Someone, I think, running through my memories. No – Luke sabotaged those shoes! No one else had time – prophecy to quest took like half an hour, tops. It's not like he promised us the shoes the night before, then left them out in the Hermes cabin for everyone to filch. He had to run up Half-Blood Hill just to catch up to us! I know he can be cynical about the gods...

And Luke wanted me to wear them.

I look at Annabeth. She won't like me saying so, and it... doesn't really matter who sabotaged those shoes right now. Luke's all the way in New York. But I have to tell Chiron when I get back.

"Can't be Medusa," I say instead. "Grover didn't spend the night with us, remember?" Annabeth frowns. "Besides, what does she have against him?"

"Fair." She huffs. "She did say someone at camp was spilling secrets to the monsters."

"It's probably them," I agree. "Whoever they are." My gaze flits to Hades's palace, and the Furies circling above it. "We... should get going before Hades comes for us."

They agree, and they all stand up – but when I do the same, I nearly keel over backwards, just barely managing to catch my feet. I noticed that when we were running away from the entrance to Tartarus, but... there shouldn't be anything in my backpack that's this heavy.

Then I remember – Ares gave it to us. I don't trust it.

"Hang on a second," I say, sitting back down and plopping the bag on the ground in front of me. I open the zipper and start to root through it. "I just want to check—" When my hand hits metal, warm and tingling, I gasp.

"What?" Annabeth asks.

"I was right," I tell them – and then I draw from it a bronze cylinder, capped with spikes. Power pours off of it. Being in its presence is like standing before a hair dryer the size of a sedan, and actually holding it makes my arm buzz and my skin crawl, even aside from the fact that it's... shockingly heavy. Not knowing what else to do, I put it back into Ares's backpack.

"What do we do?" Annabeth says, as the blood drains from her face. She knows this can't go well.

"We find the Lord of the Dead," I say grimly. "We tell the truth, and we hope he believes it."

"What if it's a trick?" Annabeth says. "We can't trust him – what if they're working together?!"

"Then the God of War could have walked through the door of DOA Studios with the Master Bolt himself. There'd have been no need for him to go after me. Or my mom. There would be no need for any of this."

"We should get out of here," Annabeth says. "The quest is over, anyway! We have the Master Bolt – let's get back to New York!"

"The quest won't be over until I get my mother back."

"But, Percy—" Grover butts in.

"I'm not leaving."

"Because of what Medusa said?" Annabeth asks. "Because she liked Hades?"

I sigh. "Partly. But I can't just leave my mom here, either. And if things go really south, we do have the pearls." I stand up, putting the backpack on. "Come on. It's time to go."

They follow behind me, both of them trudging with their heads down. They probably think I'm making the worst mistake of my life... and I have to admit, I'm not totally sure they're wrong. But what Medusa said made sense, and she did help me a lot. I think this is the right thing to do. I'm pretty sure.

Hades's palace is beautiful, from a certain point of view. The garden is especially interesting. There are a lot of what must be Medusa's statues, though most look finer than the ones I saw in her shop, granite or marble instead of the cement she mostly used. I wonder how that works. Then there are the plants – ones that look ominous or poisonous or both, ones adapted to the lack of light. There's a rather large Venus flytrap, with petals a weird purple color. Mushrooms and spiny bushes and strange luminous plants that look like they might normally be aquatic. And, of course, there are pomegranates.

Persephone is the goddess of spring, I remember. This is her work – a thriving garden in a place with no sun. I understand what Medusa meant when she said it isn't for her – it is macabre, death and its icons engraved all over the place. But I like it. The underground is, I think, closer to the sea than the sky. And I very much like the River Styx – it doesn't run through the palace, not exactly, but there's a fountain that I'm certain flows with the Styx's water.

A lot of the stories painted Hades as envious. So did Chiron. But seeing the Underworld, I can't imagine why. I don't think Hades has any reason to envy his brother.

When we reach the doors of his throne room, they open, the two dead soldiers guarding it stepping out of the way. We walk through it, into an Underworld room that I had dreamed about. Black marble steps, a throne of fused human bone. And upon it, I see for the first time the Lord of the Dead.

Hades looks scary. Inhuman. The third god I've met, after Dionysus and Ares, but the first who truly shows it. It's hard to tell with the perspective of the room, but he must be ten feet tall. His skin is almost snow white, his hair long and sleek and black. A crown of braided gold sits upon his head. His body is thin, and he's not tough the way Ares or his children are. But nevertheless he radiates power.

He thinks that I have done him wrong, though I don't know how yet. He aims to scare me. But Medusa told me he wasn't so bad. I have to at least try to believe that. To treat him fairly, and hope things will work out.

"The Son of Poseidon shows his face at last," Hades says, still languid atop his throne. "A lesser demigod would have run away. Or perhaps a wiser one."

I'm sure that didn't reassure my companions any, but I can't look away from Hades right now. It's not hard to see that any mistake could be fatal. "Lord and Uncle, I... seek to repair things between us. I would like to know your demands in exchange for the return of my mother. And I would like passage back to the world above, so that I can return the Master Bolt to Lord Zeus."

"So you admit that you possess the Master Bolt," he says darkly, sitting upright. Tortured faces shimmer in the folds of his robes – true souls, I'm sure, undergoing some kind of punishment. It must be humiliating to be someone else's outfit. I wonder if it's souls all the way down.

"I do, but not because I stole it." I shrug off the backpack and take the Master Bolt out once more, holding it up for Hades. It's still heavy and magical and tingling... but even it seems diminished in the presence of the God of the Dead. Its Celestial Bronze surface seems oddly moody, dim and shadowed. "Ares gave it to me."

Hades scowls, and stands. For a moment it looks like he's going to step toward us. But then he stops, looking thoughtful. Perhaps going, oh yeah, that is something Ares would do. "Did he? And you didn't ask him any questions? You didn't ask why, and came to me instead of Zeus?"

"He didn't tell us he was giving it to us. He just hid it in this bag and gave us that," I say. "I don't know why... but I don't think it's a hard guess. He likes war."

"You didn't find the Master Bolt where it was hidden?"

"No. We searched it when he gave it to us, and found nothing. I think the Master Bolt only appeared after we entered the Underworld – I only just found it. There's something magical about the backpack, but we never figured out what."

"Show me the bag," Hades orders, rising from his throne. I cannot help but oblige, though I hand the Master Bolt to Annabeth before I step closer. She grimaces at the weight, holding it away from her body like it's one of the squirrels the Apollo campers keep shooting.  I go up two of the black marble steps, while he descends the rest of the way to me, his body shrinking so he isn't so much larger than me.

Hades rests his hand on the backpack, and it glows and whistles, and I can just barely keep my squinted eyes on it as it seems almost to turn inside out. When it's done, a leather tube with bronze studs sits in Hades's hand, precisely the right size to fit the Master Bolt, while our few remaining supplies and our dirty clothes all land on the floor beneath it with a sad plop.

"Its sheath," he says. "I see." Hades tucks it into his robes, then conjures up a bag of black linen to replace it almost casually, the fabric folding around our stuff almost like the petals of a flower closing. "Your belongings," he says, as he hands the bag to me.

"Thank you, Lord Hades." I accept it, putting its strap over my shoulder.

"I do not steal from children," he says dismissively. "Now, I require you to answer four questions. You may find them insulting, or feel that you have already answered them, but I need to hear a direct answer in your own voice."

"And if they're all true, you'll help me?"

"If they're all false, I have no reason to be immediately furious with you," he says dismissively. The Lord of the Dead's dark, intense eyes lock with mine, and I feel the full force of one of the greatest gods beating down on me. "When Alecto approached you on your field trip, did you know that the God of the Sea was your father?"

"I did not." I cannot look away. I don't think I could lie even if I wanted to.

"Had you visited Olympus, Atlantis, or any other sacred place?"

"I had not."

"Did you have any knowledge that any part of the Pantheon truly existed, or any intentional involvement with us whatsoever?"

"I did not."

"Did you then, do you now, or have you ever had any part in the theft of the Master Bolt or of any other symbol of power, aside from Ares giving you the stolen Master Bolt as you described?"

"I didn't, don't, and haven't," I say firmly. "Not any of those." Then I finally break eye contact, and turn to glare at the satyr in the room. "I didn't even know the gods were real after I killed Mrs. Dodds! Chiron and Grover pretended like it never happened!"

"That was to keep you safe!" Grover wails. "I—"

Then we suddenly fall silent, as the Lord of the Dead clears his throat. "I believe you," he says simply. "But I have one more question." His gaze turns to the cavern roof in thought. I take the opportunity to step back, falling in line with Annabeth and Grover. She hands me back the Master Bolt, and I set it in the top of the bag. "I do not disbelieve that Ares would be complicit in a scheme like this. But he is... not the type to come up with this on his own." Annabeth quickly muffles a snicker. "Who else do you suspect is involved? What other evidence have you witnessed?"

"There must be an accomplice at camp," Annabeth explains. "The one who actually stole from Olympus. I'm sure you saw the flying sneakers that tried to drag Grover into Tartarus. Only another camper could have tampered with them." She looks to me, as if asking whether I want to say more.

"We think the master planner is in Tartarus," I add. "That's where he wanted to send the Bolt, and I... I know it's not hard evidence, but I've been having dreams of the Underworld. Of the entrance to the Pit. I knew it when I saw it."

Hades nods, briefly closing his eyes as if sorting through our information. Then they open again, and once more lock with mine. "You asked what my demands were, in exchange for the return of your mother."

He raises his hand, and a ball of golden fire forms there. He looses it from his hand, and it lands on the black marble steps beside him. In a burst of light, my mother appears, still frozen in gold just as she was when the Minotaur's hands closed around her throat.

"You see that she is well. She has not suffered. And if Ares has already been so generous, you might well be able to return her to the world above right now." I can once again feel the immense force of the god's will as he turns back to me. "I demand the return of my Helm of Darkness."

"It was stolen, too?!" Annabeth interjects, her mind no doubt racing.

"Yes. At the same time and place as Zeus's Master Bolt." He answers her question, but his gaze is fixed firmly on me. "Do you possess it, or know its location?"

"I... don't think so?" I admit. I rack my brain, trying to think if anything else he gave us might have hidden Hades's symbol of power. But I can't come up with anything. Everything else in the pack was small. Trivial. Too trivial. "I don't. Not unless he turned it into a Double Stuf Oreo."

Hades frowns, too. He raises his hand toward us, palm out, and it glows. I can't help but brace myself, but nothing happens. It stops glowing, and he lowers it. "The Helm is not with you." Hades scowls up toward the cavern roof – toward the world up above. "Then the God of War may yet have it." Then he locks eyes with me. "And you may yet be of use."

"H-how?" I ask. "Lord Hades?"

"I can take my Helm back from Ares... but Zeus may not appreciate that. The war Ares so desperately wants may yet come to pass. The God of War has come to Los Angeles above. I feel him. As a demigod, you are far more free to settle this score than I. Face him, capture my Helm and return it to me... and I will release your mother back to the world above."

Okay. Defeat the God of War. No biggie. "So you'll let us out now?" I ask, looking for the bright side. "So we can face Ares?"

"I shall, young demigod... but not for free. As a surety that you will keep to our agreement, once you have left my domain... I demand that you surrender the Master Bolt to me."

Annabeth gasps, and Grover quietly bleats. "I... really need to make sure the king gets that back," I say, grimacing.

"I have no envy for my brother's weapon," Hades says. "I will exchange it for my Helm once you have it."

"And... if I fail?"

"Then there will be war either way, and it would be in your interest that I win it... as a denizen of the Underworld." Grover bleats again, shuffling his hooves, and Annabeth pales. I'm sure I don't look too hot either. If I fight the God of War... he really might kill me. "If you fail because you are killed or maimed, I will release your mother. To your father's care, if the world above is not safe for her."

"Percy, you can't give him the bolt!" Grover says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Use the pearls," Annabeth suggests.

I shake my head. "I don't want to waste my father's gift on this," I say, resting my hand on the bolt. Annabeth tries, half-heartedly, to grab for me, but I step past her. She and Grover both seem rooted in place. "I accept your terms, Uncle," I say, and start to climb the black marble stairs once more.

I expect him to reach down to take the bolt, but instead he holds something out for me. "Sheathe it," he orders, handing me the ex-backpack. The bolt slides smoothly into the leather, and when I close the flap over it, the tingling and the buzzing and the heat almost goes away, though it is still very heavy. I guess this is why I didn't immediately notice it in the bag.

Then I hold the leather-sheathed bolt up, the symbol of another god's power. And Lord Hades reaches down, and very gently takes it.

"Why do you trust me?" Hades asks, and Annabeth takes a sharp breath in, perhaps thinking it a bad sign. "You dreamed of the Underworld, and I know Chiron was quick to blame me."

"He was," I admit. "But I wasn't sure. A monster we met said there was much worse in the Underworld than you. That Tartarus is full of Titans and Primordials who dream of ruling the world again."

Hades nods. "Monsters can often be wise," he agrees. "The greatest demigods learn to listen before they slay."

"But not the greatest heroes."

This time he almost looks surprised, a slight smile curling up the edges of his mouth. "Indeed not." He raises his hand, and a doorframe of translucent red appears at the foot of the stairs. A moment later, the bright sun of Los Angeles flickers into being within it. "Let it never be said that the Lord of the Dead does not keep his oaths."

"Thank you, Lord Hades." I bow to the God of the Dead, and then I let Annabeth tug me by my shirt down the stairs, through the doorway, and into the light.

~~

The door lets us out in a back alley in Santa Monica. Ares is on the beach. And we fight.

It's one hell of a battle. I move with Anaklusmos like I was born to wield it, as the sea whirls around me, practically fighting for me. Ares scatters cops, scares everyone in a ten-mile radius – even what look to be satyrs and Furies and the dead, watching us. And, of course, I stay human the whole time. How could I not?

I make a pretty good hero. Even if I haven't really been acting like one... and even if I am itching to grow my extra arms back.

The fact that the voice from the Pit almost certainly helped me to repel Ares doesn't make me feel any better. I saw the darkness, I know what I felt, and I know it wasn't me.

Mrs. Dodds – Alecto, I should call her by her proper name – lands on the street in front of me almost the moment I pick up the Helm where Ares had left it. She lands atop the sand, a look of surprise on her face. "You truly were not the thief?"

"I was not," I confirm. "The Bolt?"

She holds it out, still secure in its leather holster, and we swap Symbols of Power. "Lord Hades would like to reward you for your cooperation." She raises a hand to the encroaching crowd behind us. Now that Ares is gone, some of the cops and reporters are threatening to approach, but she does something to the Mist and they back off, redirecting themselves to a patch of bloody sand. "Walk a few blocks down the beach, then wait by the roadside. They shouldn't notice you."

"I will. Thank you, and thank Hades for me."

She's clearly not used to demigods talking to her this way. A forked tongue runs over her teeth. "So long, Percy Jackson," she hisses. "I hope you stay interesting." Then she rises into the sky on her bat's wings, and disappears.

We do as she said, walking down the beach and away from the ruckus. Apparently reporters are pretty loud, because we can still hear them as we go. Strangely, they already know my name – I guess that's because I ended up in the news in New York – but as Alecto said, they don't see me just walking down the beach. The police don't even notice us when we duck under the crime scene tape. She made them think some relatives of mine picked me up, apparently.

It sounds like the reporters and the cops have decided I'm an innocent victim, too. Hopefully I'll be out of trouble by the time I get back.

"Do we have enough money for plane tickets?" Annabeth asks, cars still zooming by on the road beside us.

"I can't fly," I remind her as a long black limo pulls in right behind us, a sleek modern car.

"We're better off walking," Grover nervously agrees.

"But he might be madder if it takes you days to get back to New York. You might even miss the solstice if something goes wrong!" She shakes her head. "If you're sure, I could bring back the—"

"Hey," says a voice from behind us. I hadn't paid the limo much mind, but leaning out the driver's window is a grinning skeleton, in a chauffeur's cap and aviator shades. "Lord Hades sent me," the skeleton says, and his accent is unmistakable. He could have lived in the apartment next to mine, and it makes me feel like I'm home already. "He said you'd need a shortcut back to the Big Apple. C'mon, get inside." The limo's back door slides open.

"Thank you," I say, getting inside. "And thanks again to Lord Hades."

He nods, touching his cap. We all get in, sitting together on the soft velvet couch. The door closes behind us, and the limo zooms away. "Mr. Jackson, I've been told to drop you off first, at Olympus. Miss Chase, Mr. Underwood, I can either let you out there or bring you back to your camp." We share a look. I'm sure they'd gladly see Olympus, even if it's not their first time like it is mine... but we all know I'm not in Zeus's good books right now. If he doesn't believe me, I don't want anything bad to happen to them. "You have time to decide. We'll reach the Empire State Building in seventeen minutes."

"Seventeen minutes?" Annabeth asks. "That's... oddly specific."

"New York traffic, miss. You know how it is." He goes down the ramp into an underground parking garage... and then all of a sudden we're merging into traffic on the Lincoln Tunnel.

"Whoa," Annabeth says.

"Whoa," I agree, scowling at the other cars. That was neat and all – I guess because everything underground is Hades's domain – but we're moving at a crawl. If this skeleton can get us to the Empire State Building in seventeen minutes, he's really earning his pay.

My chin falls into my hands. We're almost done. It's almost over. But now I'm running over the mission in my head, trying to think if there's anything else I need to worry about before we get home. Luke, I realize. Medusa said to keep our anklets secret, especially to the accomplice at camp. But Annabeth loves Luke. Will I really be able to talk her out of spilling?

"Hey, Annabeth," I say gently. "About, you know..." I look up front – not that I don't trust our skeleton chauffeur, but Hades doesn't need to know I made friends with Medusa – then raise my ankle, and Annabeth nods. "When we get to camp..."

"Don't tell Luke!" she blurts, and my eyebrows leap all the way up into my hair. "You can tell anyone else you want, even Chiron if you have to, but please don't tell Luke!" She lowers her head, looking away. "He's gonna hate me..."

"Okay?" I smile with relief. "Actually, I was going to say the same thing. I definitely won't tell Luke. Actually, maybe it's best if we don't tell anyone? Luke knows all the rumors, and it's not like this will make us popular even if he doesn't find out."

"Agreed," she says. "Thank you."

"Of course. But if you want to use yours where no one can see... come visit me in the Poseidon cabin. No one's gonna walk in on us there."

She rolls her eyes. "Percy, I'm not nearly as obsessed with this as you are." I frown, and she spreads her hands. "I mean, it's nice! I loved flying. I'm grateful she gave them to us, and I'm not going to give it up. But I also won't cry if I don't get to use it for a while, you know?"

"I guess," I say. "Grover, you'll keep the secret too, right?"

"Definitely," he says, nodding vigorously. He looks a little queasy about it, too. I guess he never really got used to it like we did. "So, are you waiting for enchiladas as much as I am?"

I laugh, and after that we spend the rest of the drive just chatting about everything we miss from camp. How good it'll feel to be home again. We'll all be back in a few hours, assuming Zeus doesn't fry me before I get there.

I don't say anything about how much I miss Medusa, too.

Chapter Text

Even knowing from Annabeth and Grover's stories what I'll see, stepping out of the elevator to Olympus takes my breath away. It's beautiful, the most beautiful place I've ever seen. I walk over the rolling hill of the top of a cloud and look up at gilded palaces, at bright colors flapping in the wind. It's a city of mansions that all have the best view on Earth, and I see why so many demigods become the heroes of myth, or die trying. Why so many would do anything, suffer anything, hurt anyone to earn glory in the eyes of Lord Zeus, to join the ranks of the toga-clad, beautiful, and carefree who stand before me. I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel the same pull they did.

It's not just the beautiful surroundings. It's the beautiful people. There are nymphs of every kind: naiads, dryads, nereids, and even more that I can't name on sight. They're nature spirits, not gods or monsters. Their Tribute comes from the natural things they represent. More just look like teenagers, and I figure they're minor gods. Absolutely everyone here looks as if, bar the occasional green skin or feather, they could be mortal models. That's enticing, but it's also the problem. There's no one different – a few satyrs, maybe, but I know from Grover they're just visiting. Plus there are many more women than men, and it's not hard to guess why. The people who live on Olympus tell me exactly who its king is.

I could be drawn in. Everything about Mount Olympus is the stuff of dreams, especially for someone like me, a kid who's... never really been good at anything his whole life, not until someone put a sword in his hand. A kid who's still never heard two words in his dad's voice. Who am I to say no to something like this?

The people here look like me. I am not Poseidon's firstborn, not even close, and I see my hair, my eyes, my nose repeated over and over across sisters, cousins, nieces. I could fit right in. For now.

But I know who I am. The moment I get out of the gods' sight, I won't fit in at all. Because I'll have four arms and eight eyes, or maybe stranger still. I'm a monster. Medusa gave that to me. I know there's more to our pantheon than this, deeper and darker than even the myths. Because there are no monsters on Olympus.

I hide the contempt from my face, and feel alone even as I blend right in.

The path winds by a hole in the clouds, and I lean over and look down. New York City, my hometown, in miniature. I spent all my life crawling over that ground, an ant in Zeus's sight. I can see how he finds it so easy to be cruel. He could hurl a lightning bolt at people who don't even look like people, and slip his arm around a pretty little nymph's waist before it lands.

I shake my head and step back. I have a quest to finish. So I keep walking. I stick to the main road – an unbroken, seemingly unguarded path all the way through the city, and into the enormous palace at its top.

The architecture inside is familiar – Hades's palace looks a lot like this. The throngs of pretty people are new. And the courtyard is different, with tiny flowerbeds, big trees, and huge expanses of mowed grass fit to party on. It's nice, but it's not Persephone's wild garden, overstuffed with magic and beauty, the waters of the Styx and the weird, glorious plants. It's too ordered here. Too perfect.

On the other side of the courtyard, at the end of that long road, is a single enormous room, big enough to embarrass Madison Square Garden and grand enough to put cathedrals to shame. A huge fire burns in the hearth at its center, even its low rim higher than I could climb. It's bright enough to set the whole room aglow, but when it flickers, I think I see a light within that isn't just flame. A nymph looking eight years old sits on the edge, stoking the hearth. I'd ask her what that's like, but I fear to offend the Olympians sitting behind her.

Twelve thrones stand in a circle around the hearth, all of them built to fit bodies at least ten feet tall. Two of them are occupied: the highest throne, directly across from the entrance, and another only slightly lower, to its left. I know without introduction exactly who they are. I walk toward them, my shoes squeaking just a little on the marble.

On the left is my father Poseidon, ten feet high. I already saw him in Medusa's photographs, so I knew how much he'd look like me. His sun-worn face has thousands of years of smiles in its lines, just how I always hoped I'd look when I was older. His clothes are almost hilariously casual – a Hawaiian shirt covered in parrots and coconuts, swim shorts and leather sandals. He could have walked here from any beach in the country, and if I saw him on the way I wouldn't look twice. And his throne is an oversized fisherman's chair, its black leather looking quite comfortable, though in its fishing-pole holster he has instead placed his bronze trident, flickering with green light at its tips.

On the right? Zeus, King of the Gods. He sits on a throne of silvery metal, a simple design with blocky handrests and a flat seat and back that look like they'd be absolute torture for a mortal body. His hair is salt-and-pepper, and it strikes me as resembling a storm cloud. His face looks proud and contemptuous, and his eyes are gray, darker and more colorless than Annabeth's. He wears a navy blue suit with silver pinstripes, and it takes me a few moments thinking back to my conversations with Medusa to figure out why his clothes surprise me.

I'm sure my father loves his Tommy Bahama shirt to bits. Actually, I can't see him wearing it any other way. Definitely not classy, but there's a reason beach bums wear the outfit. They're comfortable, casual clothes for hanging out by the sea, decorated with motifs about the seashore. But that suit? It can't be Zeus's favorite fashion out of all his thousands of years alive. Even if he wants to look authoritative, kings have worn all kinds of clothes over the years, togas and brightly-colored uniforms and ermine capes. And it doesn't reflect his domain, either – this isn't a pilot's uniform, it's not feathered, it's not sky blue or storm-colored or even a dark and starry night, it's navy with silver pinstripes.

The only thing that's special about the pinstriped suit is that it's the uniform of authority now. That won't matter to Poseidon or any of Olympus's other immortal denizens, they might not even notice, but I do. This is how I've seen presidents and CEOs dressed my whole life. It's meant to intimidate me. Instead, it does the opposite.

See, Poseidon dressed for himself, but Zeus dressed for me. He's so obsessed with looking powerful and in control that he's given his power away. And this is supposed to be the King of the Gods who'll protect us all from the Titan rising in Tartarus?

Still, he is powerful, especially here at the center of his domain. I avert my gaze as I walk closer, when my eyeballs start to prickle.

I decide not to kneel. Instead, I stand between the thrones, and lower my head.

"Father," I say. "Lord Zeus. I have recovered the Master Bolt, and discovered who had been hiding it."

"Well done, Perseus," says Poseidon, and for just a moment, I feel very young, and very safe. Maybe I have heard his voice before. "Return it to him."

I reach into the bag Hades gave me, and draw out the Master Bolt. It's much easier to handle in its holster; even in the presence of the God of the Sky, it barely makes my hand tingle at all. I raise it up, and Zeus pinches it between his thumb and forefinger and lifts it away. No sooner do I wonder how he uses something so small than it explodes out of its sheath as a twenty-foot spear of bright, sparking electricity, a truly fearsome weapon. The leather falls away for a moment before contorting into a black leather belt that snakes itself around Zeus's ridiculous pinstriped slacks. And, after a moment – Zeus apparently finds his weapon unclean – it vanishes once more into its sheath.

"How did you get this?" Zeus rumbles.

"Explain your story, Perseus," Poseidon adds. "Tell Zeus everything."

So I turn to Lord Zeus, and I speak. Every single word is true. I tell him about the monsters I befriended – there'd be no way to hide that, even if one of them wasn't in his employ. I tell them about Hades. I tell them about Ares and his duplicity, to Zeus's surprise, though Poseidon just rolls his eyes. I share my suspicions of Luke, though Zeus says only that he'll tell Chiron to keep an eye on him. I describe the voice from Tartarus. I think I've guessed who it might be, and so I'm the first to say Kronos's name. Zeus and Poseidon have a whole debate about that, a rapidfire stream of ancient Greek too fast for me to follow, but the gist is, Zeus doesn't want to talk about Kronos or even think about him. Once again, I am not impressed.

Zeus believes everything I tell him, which he should. But when I discuss leaving things with Hades for safekeeping, I don't mention the bolt and sheath. And when I mention that Medusa gave us gifts, I don't bring up the anklets.

At the end, Zeus looks down on me and scoffs. "You've earned as little glory as you possibly could on your quest. A hero is not meant to befriend monsters, boy. You'll do well to remember that."

"Yes, Lord Zeus," I placate.

"Nevertheless, you have done me a service," he says, and his expression softens. "You have entered my brother's domain and returned, fought my son for a Symbol of Power and won. Few heroes could have accomplished as much. I do not trust you or your affinity for monsters. I will not forget that you were born under a broken oath, nor what your arrival will mean for the future. But after what you've done... and as you are on good terms with both of my brothers... I shall let you live."

"Um... thank you, sir." It takes an astonishing amount of willpower not to answer those last five words with profanity.

"Do not linger on Olympus long," he says dismissively. Thunder booms, and with a flash of lightning that overpowers even the light of the hearth, he vanishes.

Poseidon alone sits before me, upon his throne. Instead of looking at me, he leans to the side – and waves. I look over my shoulder to try and figure out what he's doing, just in time to see the nymph tending the flame wave back, and disappear.

"Percy," he says, finally turning to look at me. "It's good to see you. But, son... I am sorry."

"What?" I say, taken aback. "Why?"

Poseidon steps off his throne, and as he does he shrinks down, until he's a tall but normal-sized man. "Zeus was not wrong when he said you were born under a broken oath. It is no one's fault but mine, but I've condemned you to live in interesting times, son."

"Well, maybe interesting is what we need," I say, smiling just a little.

He laughs, and the sound is loud and friendly. "Maybe," he agrees. "Is that why you've fallen in with Medusa?"

"You... saw that?" I ask.

"I saw some of that," he corrects. "We gods are not omniscient. There are ways to further obscure our view, and Medusa employs them, as does the device she gave you. But she feels no need to hide from me, and you both used my name quite freely. I am more aware of what went on between you than, I think, any other god. And I also have far more reason to watch you, and look deeper when you are hidden."

"Did you see," I say, and then stop and stammer. What can I say about being a monster on Olympus? "Do you know...?"

"You did nothing that I am ashamed of," Poseidon says firmly. "But I do have to warn you." He scowls, looking into the center of the flame, at that glint I don't dare ask him about. "I loved Medusa, and she constantly reminds me of why. She has always been a dreamer. An idealist. But that does not make her popular on Olympus. Where her ideals lead, I cannot always follow. And I may not be able to save you if you go too far for the others."

"You don't like monsters?" I ask.

"I have no problem with monsters. But I think you know that isn't where her hopes stop."

"But—"

Poseidon holds up his hand, and I shut up instantly – maybe the first time I've ever done that. But he looks serious, and he doesn't seem mad at me, so instead I follow his gaze to the throne room's door.

I see a goddess standing there, more than ten feet tall. She has long blonde hair, curly like Annabeth's, with gray eyes that are beautiful, but also hard and cold. An enormous white dress hangs from her thin, well-sculpted body, shimmering with golden threads. She is, in all respects, a true classical beauty. She walks into the throne room, her boots clicking almost mockingly after her arrival was so silent. Her gaze passes from Poseidon to me, and back again. Then she smirks, shrugs, and shrinks down to match Poseidon's height. She's still taller than me, she has to be at least six feet, but she looks human again.

"Athena."

"Poseidon," she says coolly. "I see you're giving good advice, for once, but permit me to make it clearer."

"Do not threaten my son in front of me," Poseidon warns.

"Am I my dear brother Ares?" she asks him. "I do not threaten. I simply share knowledge." She turns to me. "Perseus. I would not diminish your achievement. Truly you have the makings of a legendary hero. The only child of Olympus's secondborn in almost a century, gifted with an abundance of his power. Today's stirrings of rebellion will no doubt provide you with quests for years to come. There is even a prophecy about you" — she pauses, no doubt to assess the curiosity in my eyes — "though it is not my place to share it. You chose your demigod companion well – or, perhaps, she chose you." Her eyes flash with cruelty, and her smirk is sharper than any monster's teeth. "Which is why I find it so vexing that you would throw it all away for a long-forsaken monster."

"What do you mean?" I ask uneasily.

"Even you, Percy, have heard the myths. You know what we gods and our followers do to monsters, and all those who consort with them. I can see that you're loyal to your father, but he is loyal to Olympus, and if you push the rest of us too far, he will stand aside, and let you face your punishment. Trust me: as fun as it might be to play, you do not want what happened to her, to happen to you."

I take a sharp breath. It's hard to know what to say in the face of such pure belligerence from a goddess, even aside from the hint about my anklet. I wish I had a smart remark to say. Some wit. Anything to get back at her. But all that comes out is a quiet, plaintive question. "Do you really hate your daughter so much?"

"Yes," Athena says simply, and a thousand more questions are cut off in one precise stroke. She seems to know that, because she spins on her heel, turning her back on us. "You do not want me to feel the same way about you."

Athena's feet leave the ground. She transforms into an immense owl. Her wings produce great gusts of air, and she flies away.

"She can never truly outdo her father's dramatics, but sometimes she gives it a good try," Poseidon says, irritated. I sag with relief, gasping for air – it's as if a spell was broken by his simple, casual words. But I still have reason to fear.

"How much does she know?"

"We can only guess," Poseidon says. "But while she does not love her elder daughter, I suspect her younger – your quest companion – she still cares for. She will hesitate to loose any arrow that will strike you both."

So, even if Athena knows about the monster thing... she might not say anything, because Annabeth and I are both in on it. "Was she right?" I ask him nervously.

"That Olympus does not look kindly on Medusa, and may not look kindly on you? Yes." He looks serious, and older than he did before. "Has that scared you away from her? Have I?"

I smile, and shake my head. "No. It hasn't."

"That's what I thought," Poseidon says, smiling back. "My influence, perhaps. Build a wall against the sea, and the sea only strikes it harder. Isn't that right?"

The look in his eyes is so fond and so familiar that I can't help but break his gaze, shuffling around with my hands behind my back. My sneakers squeak on the floor again.

"You will see Medusa again very soon," he promises me.

"What?" I ask. "How do you know that?"

"My brother's law says that I am not allowed to contact you. I am not so restrained when it comes to immortal former lovers. You'll see your mother, too. Hades keeps his promises. And, Perseus..." He puts his big, weathered hand on my shoulder, and it's warm like the hearth. A breath bolts into my chest, and I cage it there. "You did well, and I am proud of you."

"T-thank you," I manage, finally breathing out. "Father."

"Now go," he says, and then vanishes, receding into nothingness with a burst of sea foam, like a wave in retreat. "Do not let my brother find you here," he says, his words lingering even when he is gone.

So I turn away from the empty room. And with one last glance at the hearth, I leave.

Someone has told the crowds of Olympus that I've returned victorious from my quest, that there will be no war between my father and my uncle, and they are grateful. They turn to me as I go by, stop their conversations, their music, their trade. Some clap. Some even kneel.

I wonder how many times they've done that. I wonder how many of the heroes they lauded would still come to mind now, if I asked.

I wonder how many of them lived.

~~

When I step through the doors of the Empire State Building, I'm just in time to see a black car pull up to the curb. Not Hades's limo again – this time, it's older, its engine purring loudly. Medusa's Cadillac stops in front of me. Her passenger-side window is open, and she scoots over to it and waves.

"The victorious quester returns!" she says, grinning at me. "C'mon, I'm your ride. Poseidon told me you'll want to see your mother."

She opens the door for me, then slides back to the driver's side. I get in and shut the door behind me, and Medusa pulls away. I wait until we're out of sight of the Empire State Building before I finally turn back into my spidery self. She smiles and ruffles my hair.

"How's it been? Your dad didn't give me many details."

"I met the God of the Dead!" I say. "I think he liked me. And I fought the God of War... but I think I might have gotten an assist from the man in the Pit, I'll tell you about him later. And... I saw your mother, on Olympus."

I had to mention it, but I have no idea what to say next. I certainly don't think I should say, 'yes, your mother definitely does hate you.' I'm not sure Medusa knows either, and her snakes hiss to each other uncertainly. But her own face doesn't seem to show it. After a few moments, she smiles. "My mother looks uncannily like Annabeth, doesn't she?"

"Yes!" I agree, nodding. "Annabeth is gonna be identical when she's older. It's weird!"

"A long, long time ago, that was me," she says wistfully, her hands playing across the steering wheel as she turns. "I think she's still waiting for my apology."

"You have nothing to apologize for!" I complain.

"No," she says, still smiling. This must have hurt once, but it seems she's healed. "But she doesn't agree. And in three thousand years, I haven't found a way to make her reconsider."

"She seemed really mean," I complain.

"She isn't always," Medusa says, still just wistful. "She was the first person I ever met who really thinks like I do – the only one in all my mortal life. I'm sure that's why Annabeth loves her. I was the favorite too, once."

"Then how... how did she end up hating you?"

"I wanted to go, and she didn't want to let me." For a moment, she pauses, and the only sound I hear is the New York street noise. Which, admittedly, is loud. "Even the greatest Olympians rarely tolerate defiance."

"My dad didn't seem too mad about it," I say. "He said I probably got it from him. The sea is just kinda like that."

"Your dad is an unusually good god." She rounds a corner, and suddenly I'm home. My apartment building is just down the block. "Now, c'mon," she says, as she parks at the curb. "Let's see your mother."

I open the door and dash from the car, but I stop on the front steps of our apartment building to wait for Medusa. She's taking her time, slowly locking up the car.

"Your mother is clear-sighted, right?" she asks, looking up at me. "She sees monsters?"

I blink. "She saw the Minotaur, yeah."

"Then she will see us," Medusa says. "Go ahead and turn human... and I'll hang back."

I do, becoming myself one more time. I walk up the stairs of my apartment building one more time, Medusa staying half a flight of stairs behind me as I go.

I ring the doorbell, and my mother bursts through the door. "Percy," she breathes, and then she hugs me so hard I have to use my anklet, just a little, to breathe. She's crying and running her hands through my hair, and I can't say I'm not crying a little too. But I'm not so distracted that I don't notice she shut the door behind herself.

Once the hugs and the I love yous are done, she tells me what happened from her perspective. Apparently, the world just stopped after the Minotaur got his hands around her neck, and she remembers nothing until earlier today. "I spoke to the God of Death before he sent me back here," she says. Her voice is very quiet, and I can see she's trying not to show that it scared her. "He said you won his hat back from the God of War?"

"Yeah, but that isn't even the half of it. I made friends with—"

"Sally!" Gabe yells, barging out of our front door so hard it hits her. The apartment looks absolutely trashed – it's all huge piles of Gabe junk as far as the eye can see. I can just about make out his poker buddies at the table, behind all the garbage. "What are you doing in the hall with that meat loaf still in the—" He catches sight of me, and then snarls. "Oh. It's you. I heard the cops were off your back, but I can still press charges for what you did to my Camaro."

"Based on what?" I ask him. "What could I possibly have done to your Camaro?"

"Based on, I said so," Gabe sneers. He turns to Mom. "Get me the phone, I'll call the cops."

It's only when I hear the bootsteps on the stairs that I remember Mom and I were never really alone. "You will do no such thing," Medusa says, and she sounds pissed. Red sparks dance across her body. "Back off." Gabe puts his hand on Mom's shoulder, and her scowl deepens. "And don't touch her."

"You'll regret this," Gabe blusters, and then he sucks back inside the apartment door and slams it behind him.

"Thanks," I tell Medusa... before I look to my mom again, and realize Gabe wasn't the only one she scared. "Don't worry, Mom! She's a friend. I met her on my quest. I know she looks scary, but she's really great."

"She was covered in red sparks, Percy!"

"I can do that too," I admit, smiling sheepishly. "I scared off some kids in LA that way."

"Oh?" Medusa asks, looking proud. "You've really taken to this. That's very much a monster ability."

"A-all right," Mother says, turning to Medusa. "So... you're a gorgon?"

"I am Medusa. Yes, the one." She spreads her hands. "I hear we have the same ex?"

"Uh..." Mom blinks several times, apparently struggling to fit that into her brain. She looks to me plaintively, as if to say: are you sure we can trust her? But I just smile back, and eventually she nods and turns back to Medusa. "I guess we do."

"It's a shame, though – Poseidon was way hotter in the ancient times."

Mom folds her arms. "I hardly see how that could be true," she says – and then she realizes just what she said, in front of me.

Medusa laughs, and she sounds so ordinary. Mom's cheeks go red, and Medusa smiles at her. "We'll have to disagree, but I must say – that man would be an underwhelming followup to him in any age. Surely you could do better?"

"I..." Mom looks at me, swallows, then looks back to Medusa. "I hoped he would hide Percy's scent from the... the other monsters. Keep him safe without getting him into danger." I already knew that – Grover told me. But it's still hard to hear that she put up with awful, smelly Gabe all these years for me.

"He is pungent," Medusa admits. "A monster could smell this man from the other side of Manhattan – in fact, I have on several occasions. Even Percy as a demigod would be concealed. Honestly an effective strategy, for all that it's distasteful. But you won't need to hide his scent from the monsters any more." She turns to me. "Percy? Show her."

I turn to my mom, smile weakly, and let out the magic I've gotten so used to on my quest. I transform back into my spidery self, four arms and eight eyes. I look at Mom... and then I look away, and fidget.

"A-are you a monster now?" she asks, her voice soft and fragile. "Did— does your father—"

"I'm not really a monster. It's just a magic thing Medusa gave me," I say, raising my foot and pointing at my anklet. "I'm still me. I'm still a demigod. Just, when I have this on, I can change. I talked to Dad, and he doesn't mind."

"And when he looks like a monster, he also smells like one," Medusa says. "So you don't need to protect him that way any more."

"Thank you," she breathes. "But what—" Her voice cuts off with a squeak, and when she eventually continues, it's even quieter and even softer. "What can I do about Gabe now? I don't love him, but..."

"When handling mundane problems, I find mundane solutions are often best. Just divorce the man," Medusa says with a smirk. "I know a few monster attorneys who can help you, and they have the Mist on their side. Not that they need it. Your husband slandered your son on national television. Even assuming you stick to the truth, any judge in the country would have you out of there in a snap."

"I... But if I leave him..." Her eyes dart to mine. "Percy, would you mind if we went outside for a minute?"

"A-all right," I say weakly. If Mom won't say it to me... it must be bad.

"I'll be back up for you soon," Medusa promises. Then she turns and walks down the stairs. I hear her boots clicking against the concrete stair treads, and Mom's shoes making softer rubbery clunks, but they get fainter and fainter as they go. The door to our apartment building creaks open, and then slams shut, a long, sharp, metallic sound.

"So?" Medusa asks. Her voice is soft and muffled, but even through the walls of the apartment building and several stories down, I can hear her, if only just. My eyes widen, and I'm torn between walking downstairs to hear it better, and walking up to maybe not hear it at all. In the end, I just stay where I am. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I... I just..." I can barely hear my mom, but I'm not sure it would matter if I could. She can't seem to spit anything out.

"You're scared that he'll hurt you," Medusa says, bluntly but not unkindly. "He's hit you before."

I take a sharp breath, hoping it's not true. "... Yes," Mom admits, and my fangs pop out entirely of their own accord. Gabe is a jerk. He's always been a jerk. But he's never let me see him hit her. And I can't let that stand. I don't have any weapon that will work on a mortal, but my fangs and claws are already too good for a man like him. "Can you... can you make him stop?"

Yes, we can.

"I could kill him," Medusa says, and her voice is low and dangerous, a flat recitation of facts. "I know that's what you mean. So could your son, and he'd do it in an instant if you asked. But do you really want to kill a mortal without searching for an alternative? Because it would be murder, Sally Jackson, despite your good cause, despite how vile he is. I would think little of it. I have murdered many people. Do you really want Percy to say the same, someday?"

"No," she says, and Mom's voice is so, so quiet. "But I don't want Gabe to hurt me or Percy, either."

"Nor do I." Her voice lightens. "Come stay with me for a few weeks. I have a place out in New Jersey. Your concerns are probably wise. Your husband may well try to hurt you. But when you're with me, he won't succeed."

I'm not sure quite what happens next. I hear movement, some rustling. But for a few moments, no one says anything. I've almost decided to go down and check before I finally hear two very quiet words.

"Thank you," Mom whispers.

"Of course," Medusa says. "Your son is a demigod whose like I haven't seen in many years, and I know he thinks the world of you. Now let's go up and get him."

Once again, I hear footsteps on the stairs as Mom and Medusa walk back up the stairs to our landing.

"Your mother will be staying with me for a few weeks," Medusa says, but as she does she winks at me. She... she knows I heard? Wait, right, I'm in the form of one of her children, and of course Medusa knows exactly what her children can hear. I roll my eyes as her smile widens. "We'll be heading out in a second, she just needs to grab her stuff."

Mom manages to slip in and out without Gabe stopping her, and she, Medusa, and I all get back into her car, sharing the wide bench seat. I can see Mom visibly breathe out as Medusa's big Cadillac pulls away.

"So," Medusa says, "Percy's father asked me to drop him off back at camp, but I can't get him all the way there without getting crisped by the magic, and I don't think any of us wants the other campers seeing me." She looks to me. "Percy, you don't mind walking the last half-mile? I could call a cab instead, if you do."

"Of course not," I say, smiling at both of them.

It's a long drive all the way out to Camp Half-Blood, and Mom spends it peppering us both with questions. She's glad I succeeded at my quest, if worried for me in a motherly way, and she's glad I could meet my dad. She seems oddly curious about Annabeth, too, and Medusa laughs when I tell her to stop. She asks why Medusa isn't trying to eat either one of us. Thankfully, that doesn't offend Medusa, who explains basically what she told me before: that she could get Tribute out of eating me, but doesn't need or want to, and that she couldn't get anything out of killing Mom even if she did want to, clear-sighted mortals are often legacies of gods or monsters but don't have Tribute of their own.

Mom asks me to show her more of what my anklet can do, and asks me what it's like to use it, all of which I do happily. She even asks if she can try it, but unfortunately as a mortal she can't.

It's bittersweet, when I see the pine atop Half-Blood Hill come into view, and Medusa pulls the car off to the side of the road. Not that I don't miss camp, but I know I'll miss Mom and Medusa, too. And I'll miss being a monster – even here, I have to turn human again. But they both assure me that I'll have them when the summer's done. So I thank them, kiss my mom goodbye, watch as Medusa turns the car around and drives away, and then start my walk back to Camp Half-Blood.

Chapter Text

I'm sitting in my cabin, door closed and locked behind me. At Camp Half-Blood I have to be human almost all the time, but right now I'm not. My clawed feet are kicking in the air behind me. My chin rests in two of my hands, while my third holds a bottle of water and my fourth a drachma.

Water is spraying down the new waterfall that Poseidon apparently put in while I was on my quest. A rainbow shimmers faintly there, and I smile. I can't call Dad directly, 'ancient laws' again, but everyone else is fair game. I hurl the drachma in, and call Medusa.

"Hello, Percy." She's sitting behind the counter at the diner, a mug of coffee steaming in her hands. She looks unusually serious, her snakes all watching me. "There's something I have to tell you—"

"Is Mom okay?" I blurt.

"She's fine," Medusa reassures me. "She didn't even see him. But your stepfather is dead."

"Okay," I say, sighing with relief. "But he came after Mom again?"

"Yes, he did. Tried to break into the shop. Smashed out a window, it's still boarded up." She notices my expression, and smiles. "Here, take a look." She walks through the staff door, my perspective on the Iris-call following her, revealing a new statue standing in her workshop, set up on a dolly.

Gabe has a heavy metal flashlight in one hand, a revolver in the other, and a look of utter contempt on his black-marble mug. I've seen him glower this way many times, but somehow, seeing it fixed in stone for eternity really drives home just how vile that man was.

"Wow. I... I guess I'm glad he'll never hurt Mom again." I grimace, still staring at the man who'd mistreated me and hurt my mom. "Remind me again why we couldn't just have killed him when we were in New York together? It would only have made a few weeks' difference."

"It would have been murder if we'd killed him then," Medusa says. "The outcome was the same, but I killed him in defense of your mother, and that means it was his own choice that ended his life, not yours or mine. That matters. And, as you say, it would only have made a few weeks' difference, so why wouldn't I have waited?"

"But if you hadn't been there to protect her..."

"Then you or she might indeed have had no good choice but to strike first. But don't start there if you don't have to. Let your enemies make the first move." She spreads her hands. "It's the better choice, but it also makes things simpler in the long run. My reputation is still recovering from a few things I thought were good ideas three thousand years ago."

"Is this about our oath?" I ask.

"Not technically. Your oath to me only covers literal monsters. You could have killed Gabe and faced no consequence, at least not from the gods or me. But I asked for that oath because I don't want you to murder anyone... and that includes mortals." Her tone softens, her snakes flicking their tongues at me. "You're a good kid, Percy. I don't want me or anyone in this pantheon to take that from you."

I'm suddenly struck by just how nice Medusa is, even when the gods give her so little reason to be. "Thanks."

She nods, sipping on her coffee. "I think if you lie down and really think about it – what it would have been like to murder Gabe – you would not speak about it so lightly. You didn't even have any mortal weapons, did you?"

"No. I was thinking I'd use my fangs and my claws," I admit, though saying the words out loud feels... a lot worse than I had imagined.

"They would have done the deed," Medusa agrees. "Mine have. But, believe me, that's a... visceral experience, and one that I would spare you from."

The moment she says it, I can almost taste the blood on my teeth. She's right, and I'm glad it never happened. Not that I wouldn't have done it if he'd forced me – if I were standing between him and my mother, I could be proud even licking my fangs clean – but killing him just because I wanted to...

I shake my head, and change the subject.

"Weren't your gnomes all cement?" I ask. "He looks like marble."

"My inventory is mostly cement, but that's not all I make. The worse the person, the nicer the stone and the better they sell. This one is going to a mortal gallery. I'm going to split the proceeds with your mother, considering."

"I don't see her with you. Did she move back to our apartment now that Gabe's gone?"

"Your mother is just now signing the lease on a new place," Medusa says, smiling proudly. "A new start for both of you, without him."

"Wow," I say, smiling. I don't remember ever moving before.

Medusa won't tell me anything about the new apartment – she says Mom will want to show it to me – so instead we move on to lighter subjects. She likes when I tell her about Annabeth, since of course she won't call Medusa on her own... though she is still using her anklet. I'm proud of her. And it's always fun to keep up to date on the monster gossip. But, eventually, a customer jangles through Medusa's door, and she has to go.

I turn human and step outside, the hot, sunny August day a big change from the dark, cool Poseidon cabin. The place is almost deserted – most of the summer campers are already gone. I think I can hear Argus over the hill, arguing with some Ares campers about what kinds of weapons will or won't make it through a TSA checkpoint.

My wandering feet eventually take me to the sword-fighting arena, and once I'm there I can't help but stare. Luke Castellan is slicing the absolute shit out of the dummies. He beheads one, chops the arms off another, splits the next practically in half. He must be using a steel sword, too. We don't keep too many of those around at camp. Demigods shouldn't fight mortals or break the equipment, steel does both, and celestial bronze does neither. They're still dangerous to us, but hey, that's Camp Half-Blood for you.

It's a stunning display of swordsmanship, but it's also kind of scary. Especially considering I still don't know his loyalties.

I warned Zeus and Poseidon about Luke, and I also talked to Chiron directly. He'd set the harpies and some of the subtler satyrs and nymphs to watch him. The only thing they found is that Luke leaves camp a lot... but everyone already knew that. Half the reason he's so popular is he throws parties with outside food. He's nineteen, he has a driver’s license, and Chiron started letting him take the camp van years ago. Aside from that, we have nothing. No evidence. Which is why he's still running around, eviscerating dummies.

Still. Something seems different about him. Maybe he'll tell me something, if I push.

"I guess swordfighting class is done for the year?" I ask him as I step into the arena, raising an eyebrow as he smoothly chops through a dummy's waist.

"They were beat up anyway," Luke drawls. He turns to me, and as he does I can see the blade more clearly. One side definitely is steel, but the other is celestial bronze. I guess that thing isn't just for dummies. Or mortals. "We make new ones every year."

"That's an interesting sword. Did you get that from a monster?" I ask, and Luke raises an eyebrow. "They call those monsters' blades. Since they hurt everybody. But I don't think I've ever heard of one made of two metals like that."

"You really did make friends with some monsters on that quest, huh? And I thought Annabeth was just being high-strung," Luke says. "Yeah, it's one of a kind. And it was made for me." He raises it in a salute, and it gleams hungrily. "I call it Backbiter."

"It's a beautiful weapon," I say, smiling up at it. I like the idea of it as much as anything – godly celestial bronze and cruel steel back-to-back, ready to flip at a moment's warning. And I'm no Hephaestus kid, but the way the two metals meet perfectly at the edge of the blade, side-by-side... that can't be easy to forge.

Luke laughs, and sheaths it. "I gotta say, you're really not what I was expecting from our next Big Three kid. I kinda thought it'd go to your head, y'know? That your dad is number two? They say his ego's not as bad as Greased Lightning up there, but he's still king of the sea, bearer of the middle straw."

"I can't really speak for my dad," I say slowly. "I only talked to him for fifteen minutes or so. But he was nice. He seemed to care about me. As to myself... I think I've seen there's more to aspire to than kissing the king's shoes. That's supposed to be the reward lined up for me, but there's more to this pantheon than the gods of Olympus."

Luke grins practically from ear-to-ear, and I realize too late how he probably took that. "Couldn't have said it better myself," he agrees. "So you're not fond of the Big Z's rule?"

"I don't think anyone really benefits from my uncle's rule except my uncle and maybe my aunt," I say, sidestepping everything I know and suspect. "Sure, it's not as bad for Poseidon or me as it could be. I know I'm probably the luckiest kid to pass through the Hermes cabin in years. But things are still bad. You know he expected me to be grateful for not murdering me on the spot? That was after I brought his bolt back!"

Luke laughs. "No, but I'm not surprised." He walks over to his pack, rummaging around before holding up a 6-pack of Cokes, his fabled contraband again. "I think I'm done here. You wanna drink some of these on the beach?"

"Yeah, I'll say you're done." I raise my eyebrow at the row of dummies, totally demolished, then turn back to him and smile. "Lead the way."

Luke and I walk side-by-side, and I feel a strange sense of companionship as we go. Even if he is guilty of everything I suspect him of... at worst, he'd be another monster like me. Another demigod who was offered another path, and accepted with aplomb. We're even dressed alike, the cut-off sleeves and slashed sides of my shirt matching his. And if Chiron knew what both of us were up to, I'd be in almost as much trouble. If Luke worked for someone who wanted to topple Zeus and stop there, find some way to make this work out for the rest of us, I'd be on board in a heartbeat.

We stay in step all the way to the beach. We lie on the beach chairs, guzzling the Cokes, crumpling the cans, and tossing them to the sand between us. The conversation starts with nothing important, but as it goes on, Luke starts to push the boundaries. To see just how far I'm willing to take the monster talk. He must be pleased by what he finds.

Luke tells me about the many places he's met monsters, from city streets to caverns to high-rise lofts. Then a monster bazaar, a bustling agora hidden in a warehouse in the docks of Baltimore. And that one really stops me cold, because I know for a fact he's not lying. Medusa's told me about the same place. I'll probably visit myself in a few weeks.

"Of course, I had to be disguised as a monster myself that time – can't say how, sorry," Luke says, spreading his hands. "But there were way too many of them to look like a demigod."

"What was it like?" I ask, turning in my seat so I can look him in the eyes.

"Percy, there were so many monsters," he says, smirking as he reminisces. "More full of people than Camp Half-Blood at the height of the summer. They're the freest people you can get in the pantheon – no one tells a monster what to do, not like here, not like Olympus. And they are all so hungry. So angry. But they sure loved me." He notices my interest, and smiles. "Maybe I'll bring you next time."

"I, uh... I've heard of it. I actually made plans already."

"Really? Wow. I guess it's easier for you," Luke muses, staring out to sea. "Since you only just got here. To accept that things aren't quite the way they told you. But I've lived at Half-Blood Hill year-round since I was fourteen. I started looking for another path when my love for the gods broke, after my quest... but I couldn't have imagined what I'd find."

"Why'd your quest do that?"

"I hear you thought it was dumb?" Luke waits just a moment, watches me grimace, before he grins. "Well, guess what: you're right. My quest was worthless. Just a replay, because the gods can't do anything but endless reruns, a string of greatest hits albums for the rest of time. The only real things I did were I murdered a new crop of monsters, and got an old crop of friends killed. For the glory of the gods." Luke scoffs. "As if."

He crushes his last can of Coke and spikes it down onto the sand, sending it skidding most of the way to the waves.

"When I got here, they told me that our pantheon was a dangerous place, that the gods and the satyrs and Chiron were on our side and everyone else hated us. They told me to kill anyone who didn't look like them. After what happened to Thalia, I believed it." He smiles at me. "But you don't, do you?"

"The monsters don't hate us, just our parents," I say. "Not even all our parents – a lot of them hate my uncle but like my dad fine. They come after us because that's the only way they have to stay alive. Because the gods starve them, otherwise."

"Exactly. I wish I'd known back then." He shakes his head, looking out to sea. "But I didn't. So I trained, and trained, and trained, and then... I did one quest, and I failed it, and that was it. Turned out they didn't need me after all. Ride's over. Please wait for your pointless death." His hand plays across the hilt of his monster's blade. "I don't intend to die a pointless death."

"What do you want to do instead?" Despite all the Cokes, my mouth is bone dry.

"I stopped loving the gods a long time ago. But I still feared them. I couldn't stand up to them on my own, so I found someone who could. And when we topple the Lord of the Sky together, the gods will find out what it's like to be hunted."

"You really shouldn't admit that at camp," I say. Honestly, we probably passed that point ages ago – but I've been watching for Luke's tails, and I haven't seen any of them. My eyes dart around, and there's still nothing. Maybe with the end of the summer session, they're distracted. I really think we haven't been overheard.

"Not gonna matter, Percy," he says casually, smirking at me. "I'm leaving. I brought you down here to find out whether you'll come, too."

"You're going to Kronos."

"You guessed?" Luke asks. "Did you know it was me?"

"The shoes weren't all that subtle."

He scoffs. "Tell that to Annabeth. She had no idea who could have done such a thing!" His voice arches into a falsetto on the last words. "But I thought you might know better."

"She trusts you."

"Yeah. But not enough." Luke looks to me, an odd, crooked smile on his face. "Do you trust me, Percy?"

"I do," I say nervously. "But I don't know if I trust the Crooked One. He ate my dad, you know? Things are bad, but that doesn't mean they can't turn out worse."

Luke sighs. "Well, better that than devotion to the gods. If you think hard about it, though, I bet you'll change your mind. Try getting back in touch with some of those monsters you met. We've been keeping the Crooked One's rise a secret, but the monsters are already signing up in droves. The King of the Sky has had enough chances. Lord Kronos will be the next bearer of the Heart of the West, and the sooner you join the better off you'll be."

He... might not be wrong. Everything I know tells me that Kronos will be formidable. And Zeus isn't even preparing yet.

"And if you're worried about your dad, see if he'll join up too. I can't say too much, but he won't be the only god with us." He spreads his hands. "Honestly, I think you're with us already. If Greased Lightning heard half the stuff you just told me, you'd be in deep trouble."

"I know," I mutter through a suddenly clenched jaw.

"That wasn't a threat," he says, raising his palms. "I won't tell. They probably wouldn't believe me anyway. And I don't want to get you fried. I want you on my side, Percy. But I can give you some time to think it over."

Luke reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a trinket, something small that sparkles and shines in his hand. An hourglass, a spiderweb of silver cradling thin, delicate crystal, with grains of black sand filling its bottom. Luke flicks it with his finger, and the sand begins to very slowly fall upward, individual tiny grains plummeting against gravity to splatter onto the very top of the upper bulb.

"This hourglass will run until the Summer Solstice," Luke says. He stands up, and plops it into my hand. "A little less than a year. Whenever you're ready to talk with us, smash it, and I'll be there."

"And if it runs out?" I ask, getting to my feet beside him.

"I'll still talk to you whenever you're ready," Luke promises. "But until you're with us, you're with the gods. And we fight the gods. This hourglass is a promise: I won't go after you, and neither will any of Kronos's forces. But that promise can't last forever. When the sand runs out, we might have to fight." He grins, standing fully upright. He raises his arms over his head, stretching out. "All right. Think that was everything." He points to the sea with two fingers, and magic sparks between them. "I invite you to Camp Half-Blood," he tells the sea.

From it steps a telkhine. A monster, a kind I'd never seen in person before, with a doglike face, slick shiny skin like a seal, hands and feet webbed together halfway to fins. "Finally," she gargles. "I've been waiting—" Then she notices me, and she snarls. "Who—"

"Relax," Luke says, raising a hand. "He'll be on our side soon enough."

"You're swimming away," I belatedly realize. "But you— I'm going to have to tell Chiron, I'm sure someone saw me with you, they'll realize you're gone, and someone is bound to notice you let a telkhine—"

"Go right ahead," Luke says. "I want everyone to know I'm leaving, and why. But remember the hourglass, all right?" He leans down and ruffles my hair. "Hopefully I'll see you soon. Until then, Percy."

Then he steps up to the telkhine, and offers her his hand. She leads him into the water, a bubble forming around him as they both slip beneath the surface. There's a twist in the water, something I feel more than see, and a flash of blue magic. And then they both are gone, rocketing out into the ocean with just a trail of bubbles left behind them.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you want to go?" Annabeth asks, as she shoots me a nervous look from the other couch.

"Yeah, I am," I say, for the tenth time. "But if you're not, I'm sure Mom would bring you back home."

"I can't let you get killed all by yourself!"

"Luke made it out fine! He said he loved it!"

"And now he's a traitor," Annabeth mumbles, though now she's looking down at her shoes, the way she still sometimes does when Luke comes into the conversation. I'm not really sure what to do about that, but then I hear a sharp knocking at the door, and suddenly I'm not thinking about that. Mom's in the kitchen, but she quickly runs to the door and opens it.

On the other side stands Medusa, this time wearing ancient Greek garb – a long dresslike thing called a peplos, in deep blue. Most monsters don't dress this way in private, including her, but she prefers it in public.

"Hello, Medusa," Mom says easily. They hug and exchange greetings before Medusa turns to us.

She sits down on the couch beside me, and smiles as she sinks into the cushions, running her hand over the blue cloth. "Well chosen," Medusa tells Mom. We moved our old couches over originally, but one look at the crust and the stains on them in our new, clean home meant they didn't last long, especially after the money from Medusa's sculpture came in. "Are you two both ready?"

"Of course," I say. After a moment, Annabeth slowly nods. Medusa turns to her.

"Have you got that knife of yours?" she asks.

"I'm not going unarmed," Annabeth says, practically snarling at Medusa, who just smiles back.

"I wouldn't ask you to," Medusa replies. "But your celestial bronze may give you away. It doesn't tend to agree with monsters." She reaches into her satchel, and pulls out a knife whose size and shape is almost astonishingly close to Annabeth's. She slides it out of its sheath, just a little, to reveal its black, shiny surface, translucent at the sharp edge. "Tartarus Obsidian," Medusa says. "The finest blades we monsters carry."

She holds it out to Annabeth, her other hand opening to accept the celestial bronze. Annabeth snatches the obsidian knife, before slowly digging her usual knife out of her clothes and handing it, reluctantly, to Medusa. She unsheaths her new blade, and it seems to meet her approval, however reluctant.

"You can keep Anaklusmos, Percy, no one will notice it as a pen. But in case you need a weapon that won't cause a furor..." She passes over an obsidian sword. It's slightly shorter than Anaklusmos, but then I'll actually have to carry this one. I take it out of its sheath and give it a few test swings. It feels all right, so I strap it to my belt.

Then, almost as reluctantly as when Annabeth did it, I hand over Anaklusmos. "It wouldn't be fair if I kept mine," I say.

Medusa laughs. "Good point." One of her snakes turns to look at Annabeth, and I follow its gaze just in time for me to see how pleased she is, before she notices me and straightens her face. "Now. Forms on?"

Annabeth smiles slightly and turns back into her gold-feathered harpy form, which quite suits the chiton she's wearing. Her eyes darken, too, since Athena's gray is quite distinctive. I was already in my spidery form – I've been experimenting with others, but that one's still my usual – but I switch to a mer form instead, like Medusa wanted. She didn't say why... just that it might be useful. Mer can have four arms, so I don't mind too much. And, yes, mer can grow legs on land. It would be very complicated if I couldn't.

"Oh!" Annabeth says. "You look nice."

"Thank you," I say, smiling down at myself. I decided to have scaled skin, so I'm blue-purple and faintly iridescent, each tiny scale catching the light just a little bit differently. And I match my chiton, deep blue almost the same color as Medusa's peplos. I look to Mom and smile. "See you tomorrow," I say. I'll be spending the night with Medusa, though Annabeth won't.

"See you then, Percy," she agrees. She doesn't react to my form – she hasn't since I got back from camp. I guess the month she spent with Medusa really helped her relax around monsters, even me turned into one.

Annabeth and I follow Medusa to her car, and we set off on the four-hour drive to Baltimore. We stop for lunch midway through, not at McDonalds or Taco Bell but at a little roadside diner a lot like Medusa's. Apparently she knows the owner, and the food is delicious. As usual, no one notices that we're monsters, though some of them do notice our clothes. Medusa says we're going to a comic convention, and that seems to be enough for them. That embarrasses Annabeth a little, but I just think it's funny.

Medusa ends up taking us right through the center of town. Baltimore doesn't look too bad at first – it's not much of a city, at least not for a kid from the Big Apple, but still way better than most of the places where I went to boarding school – but as we near the bazaar, it gets crummier and crummier. The old Cadillac starts to bounce over potholes and rumble over worn pavement, and out the window all I see is graffiti and squalor, ugly hulking warehouses and boarded-up husks. We must be getting near the docks, because we start to see whole new kinds of skyline, big tanks and smokestacks and huge container-ship cranes. Looking at Annabeth, I get the sense she's glad to have a monster's blade, just in case.

Medusa eventually pulls the Cadillac into a rough lot, in places fully reverted to gravel. The cars here are mismatched and eccentric. Quite a few classic cars, hot rods and Volkswagen Beetles and even a sleek streamlined sedan that has to be from the 1940s. Like Medusa's Cadillac, they're cars that their immortal owners have kept in pristine care for half a century or more. In between them are crummy beaters and brand-new Mercedes and even a hearse. Annabeth can't help but stare at that one.

Medusa finds a space, we all pile out of the car, and Annabeth and I look around. At the end of the lot stands an old warehouse on a pier. I can see the ocean, too, locked behind a chain-link fence. And on the corrugated tin sides of the building stand messy black spray-paint letters, ten feet high. In English, Greek, and Latin, they read AGORA BALTIMORE.

"This way," Medusa says, our shoes crunching over the loose stone. There's a little vestibule sticking out of the warehouse, mirrored glass, steel windowframes, and a rusty tin roof; she pushes open the rickety door, and we follow her. Inside is a Scythian dracaena standing guard at an old desk with most of its wood veneer torn off, but the moment she sees Medusa she smiles. She doesn't even ask about me or Annabeth, just hisses a greeting, waves, and presses a button.

The inner set of doors clicks and buzzes. We walk through the doors and onto a high balcony, overlooking it all. I can't help but walk up to the railing and stare.

There are more monsters in one place than I have ever seen before. Luke was right – the crowds are bigger than they ever are at camp. My only point of comparison is the nymphs and minor gods on Olympus, but seeing the monsters now makes it clear just how lacking they really were. With each of them hand-selected to please Zeus, they had a strange, uncanny look – almost like the people in the magazines that got passed around the Hermes cabin, attractive and airbrushed and all alike.

But there is no king here. These monsters answer only to themselves, and it shows. They look nothing like each other, with scales and fur and skin of all colors, absolutely no respect for the human body plan, and dressed in diverse and wild styles that all together clash marvelously. I'm not even sure they're all Greek – I spot a few buff guys with animal heads, colorful collars, and no shirts wandering around, and I think, Aren't they Egyptian?

Most of the warehouse is occupied by a bustling marketplace, stalls packing the huge building full. There are different kinds in different places – it seems like the ones closest to us sell magical items, and there's an empty stage at the far end whose seats are serving double duty as a food court, absolutely surrounded by food carts. In the center of the pier, the floorboards have been torn out, and the bazaar continues into the waters below, mer and telkhines and I think even a siren or two swimming around in depths that seem no less active than the surface. Likewise, at the far side of the room, the yawning mouth of a cave opens out of an incongruous ridge of sparkling black rock, lit by candles as it descends into the earth – a path direct to the underworld for skeletons, empousai, and more that I don't even recognize. Our quest would have been way easier if I'd known about this... but Grover would have had a heart attack, so maybe LA was still the best choice.

A haze hangs in the air, purple and faintly sparkling, and it sends a frisson down my spine as I breathe it in, thick with magic. Little lanterns of all colors, burning with strange fire, have been strung up atop poles and on wires running between the stalls and over the water. I realize, looking at it, that it's beautiful. A monster's paradise.

I tear my gaze away, if only so we can actually visit all of it. Medusa's expression looks a lot like mine, though there's a note of wistfulness. Even when she's watching me, most of her snakes are still looking out at the bazaar. Annabeth is clearly still worrying, and I can see just a little fear in her, but it doesn't take her long to straighten her face. She's trying to keep an open mind, probably for me.

We head down and start to walk around. Medusa knows a lot of people here, and almost everyone knows her – I guess that makes sense, considering she's one of the most famous monsters for mortals, too.

My eyes are drawn to one particular stall. Inside of a big metal cage relaxes the most beautiful bird I've ever seen. It's as big as a crow, but with feathers of translucent red and yellow and orange – translucent because a fire burns beneath them, shifting and flickering and licking at its beak. And it's sitting on a bird feeder of blown glass, red and yellow to match the bird, with a little flame of its own burning in its center. It looks at me for a moment, before sticking its head between the feeder's bars and chowing down on what looks like a dead bug.

"Ah, I see you've noticed our phoenix feeders!" says the monster behind the counter. He has leathery purple skin, and short tusks sticking out around his mouth. "They are beautiful birds. You know, you could see them as often as you want..."

"Phoenixes are lovely," Medusa says, "but the feeders also attract Stymphalian birds, and those are a real nuisance."

"Oh! Lady Medusa! It's an honor!" The merchant bows, before gesturing proudly to his feeder. "But this is guaranteed phoenixes only! See the flame in the middle? It attracts phoenixes, and it burns Stymphalian birds. They might try it, but only once. And they won't hang around afterward."

"Clever," Medusa concedes. "I've heard of those. But what fuel does it take?"

He smiles uneasily. "Tribute," he admits. "You'll need to refill it twice a week. But, Lady Medusa, I'm sure you could handle that without needing to hunt."

"I could. And Percy could too." She turns to me, and rests her hands on my shoulders. "If you really want a phoenix feeder, you can have one, but you'll have to be responsible about this. You have to keep the flame lit. Maybe at my place it wouldn't be a big deal, but you live in the city – Stymphalians will eat all the grubs in the feeder, crap on everything for blocks around, and then start chasing the mortals." I grimace. "It won't be a strain for you, but you will have to be diligent. Do you think you can handle that?"

I take a moment to really think about it. But, honestly, I was sold the moment I saw that phoenix. I can be diligent if I want to. I try to pay for it – Poseidon's been sending me drachmas – but Medusa won't let me. The merchant packs a feeder up in a cardboard box full of tissue paper, plus a glass jar full of phoenix food. Dried sin-eater grubs from the Fields of Punishment, apparently.

We keep exploring the bazaar after that. Medusa buys each of us a few more gifts – for Annabeth, a magical multicolored ink pen made of blown glass and an endless journal of dot paper, and for me, a few necklaces in the mer style, all silver and glass and colorful stones, and a waterproof satchel.

It's not all necessarily to our taste. One particularly big stall advertises Fast Food Training: Delicious Demigods In Half The Time! They could be having some very fast food indeed, but none of them notices us – Medusa's anklets do their jobs well, it seems. Annabeth's eyes linger there, and apparently Medusa notices too because she hustles us away from that section. It was mostly full of weapons and stuff anyway.

The monsters we do talk to are all friendly, honestly way more friendly than your average New Yorker... but moments like that really do drive home that if they knew what we were, a lot of them wouldn't be. Medusa and Echidna were absolutely satiated, but most of the monsters here... like Medusa warned us, the crowds are mostly young, hungry mortal monsters. Even Luke wouldn't come here without a disguise like ours.

Thinking of Luke... there's one stall I'd dreaded even more, but it never appears. Though I hear Kronos's name or his epithets in dozens of whispers, there is no booth for him. Not even a flag.

Eventually both of our stomachs start to rumble, and Medusa leads us off to the food court for dinner. She recommends meat skewers with a strange blue sauce, and I never do quite catch what it is, but it's delicious. We sit down on the wooden benches in front of the stage. There's a hearth burning at the bottom, and a young girl sits by the fire, exactly like the one I saw on Mount Olympus. She has to be the same person, though I can't imagine who. Unlike there, the monsters seem to be paying attention to her – one takes two bites of meat off their skewer, sacrifices one in the flame and tosses another right in the girl's mouth. She eats it in one bite, then giggles and smiles at him.

"Who is that?" I ask. "The... whoever she is... by the fire. I saw her before, on..." Crap. Can't mention Olympus. "Uh, somewhere very different."

Annabeth blinks. "Now that I think about it, me too."

"That's Hestia, goddess of the hearth," Medusa says. Her hand moves like she wants to ruffle my hair, but as I don't have any – there's a crest of purple and red there, all fins and needles – she pats me on the shoulder instead. "And well spotted."

"What is she doing here?" Annabeth asks.

"That's a hearth. It's her domain." Medusa smirks at Annabeth's put-out expression. "If you are actually wondering why she's welcomed, it's because she keeps the other Olympians off our back. She's an unusually accepting goddess, and as these bazaars honor her domain, she shelters us in turn." Anger passes through her expression, though only briefly. "Not always. She has no power to stop the God of Lightning when he's in his rages. But when she can."

"Do any other gods come here?" I ask.

"Hestia is the only Olympian who comes in person," Medusa says. "But I'm sure you can see how many of us are beholden to the gods of the sea or the underworld. Others are beholden to Titans or greater monsters or denizens of Tartarus. A lot of food is sacrificed in our hearth." She smiles. "I should probably do the same, and you can too. But be warned – don't sacrifice to any god you don't want to see you." Annabeth pales, then nods vigorously. It looks like Athena won't be sharing any of Annabeth's skewer. Though, if I know her, she'll make it up later.

She does still sacrifice, though to whom I don't know. I throw one chunk of meat into the fire for Poseidon, then turn to Hestia. "Do you like having sacrifices tossed to you?"

Hestia laughs. It's not surprising I didn't realize who she was on Olympus. She has none of the ego I expect of a god... nor the dignity. "It's fun catching them," she says. "And if you miss it ends up in the fire anyway."

"All right," I say, weighing a chunk of meat in my hand, before tossing it to her, underhand. I wince – it's just a bit off – but Hestia leans way over, and catches it in her mouth. I smile – before she overbalances, falling on her side into the hearth.

I stiffen, but it doesn't seem to faze her – she vanishes from the flame and then reappears, her small body sitting atop the stone rim again as she laughs.

Medusa bows. Annabeth and I follow suit before we return to the benches. We finish the rest of our meal together, sitting a little back from the hearth. Hestia really is just as friendly to everyone who passes by. When we're done, Medusa gets us ice cream from one of the dessert stalls.

After that, Medusa digs around in her peplos and takes out a small coinpurse. "Percy, do you mind putting this in your bag?" she asks. "Annabeth, if you have anything that needs to stay dry, you'll want to do the same."

"Sure," I tell them both, accepting Annabeth's gifts and a few things from her pockets. "What's this for, though?"

"Come this way," Medusa says, a huge grin on her face. Annabeth doesn't seem quite sure how to take that – Medusa didn't tell us about this. "You'll see."

Chapter Text

Medusa leads us to a stall at the very back of the bazaar, behind the stage. Just a little podium with a pier behind it jutting out into the Patapsco River.

WHIRLDIVERS FOR HIRE, say the signs. SAN FRANCISCO. NEW YORK. ATLANTIS. 1 DRACHMA PER PERSON.

Whirldiving. That must be what that telkhine did to spirit Luke away from the Camp Half-Blood beach so fast. And, indeed, there are a few telkhines hanging out on the pier, though it's mostly mer.

"Three for Atlantis," Medusa tells the two mer manning the booth, as she casually hands over the drachmas. I try not to gasp. I've heard so much about my father's home... but I had no idea I'd be going there today!

"Your son can't do it himself?" asks the man. He has skin the same color as mine, but overall he looks a lot more human, with two arms and even a little hair, albeit trimmed short.

"I don't know how," I admit.

"Maybe you'll pick it up on the way," says the woman. She has purple skin and, like me, four arms, but she has many more fins than I do, fanning out around her neck and at some of her joints, jutting out from her forearms, and making a far bigger crest atop her head. She unclips the rope blocking access to the pier. Medusa follows her in, and we follow her.

"His father will teach him when we're there," Medusa says, smiling.

"All right. But the two of you want a bubble?"

"Of course," Medusa says. The woman leads us down a set of steps into the water. For me, it's just like always – I stay perfectly dry as I become immersed, even my clothes remaining crisp and clean, though my legs furl up into a mer's tail the moment the water passes my waist.

For the others, however, a bubble forms as their feet enter the water – a big one, encircling both of them. They stay just as dry as me.

The mer woman reaches out, one hand taking the bubble, the other my wrist. She flattens her body, pointing her head toward the Chesapeake. I can feel the water all around us reacting to her. And then with a flash of blue magic she shoots off down the river, impossibly fast and constantly spinning, diving almost to the bottom as she goes.

I'm sure to Medusa and Annabeth, it's all just a blur, but something in my Poseidon-kid brain has no problem keeping up and even following her navigation. She doesn't follow the Chesapeake Bay to the sea like I'd expect. Instead she goes straight east, up the Chester River... and then into a tunnel. Clearly god-made, the tunnel is mostly dark, though I'm not disoriented in the least. I can even keep track of the other mer around us, who we're mostly outpacing. Every few miles there's a stopping point, a perfectly circular ring carved out of the rock, well lit by magical lanterns and tiled with mosaics of Atlantis. Some mer have stopped at each one, and at a few there are even shops and food stalls. The gas stations of the underwater world, I figure. But our professional whirldiver doesn't need to stop at any of them, and in less than a minute she's into Delaware Bay, and then the wide open waters of the Atlantic beyond.

This might just be the most fun I have ever had. I always wondered what it might be like to fly, at least before I found out Zeus would shoot me down if I did, but this is way better than that could ever be. If Medusa hadn't already said Dad was going to teach me, I would absolutely be begging once we got there.

It's not too long after that we begin to slow down, with Atlantis glimmering ahead of us. Our whirldiver points us skyward, and we zoom over the city, its tall buildings that shining in the undersea light like seashells. The sprawling palace and its grounds are at the center, looking almost like a snowglobe beneath a crystal dome. Then she circles around, and we sink downward, eventually slowing to a normal swimming speed just before we land on the polished stone pavers of a plaza at the bottom of the sea.

The whirldiver splits the bubble between Medusa and Annabeth, then shrinks it to just barely cover them, a thin layer of air around their clothes with a bigger bubble around their heads. Medusa tips her another coin, and she saunters off to man another booth. It's much smaller than the stall in Baltimore – I guess they don't do too much business when almost everyone here is aquatic themselves.

Medusa takes us on a long, winding walk up the seafloor toward the palace. Even for Medusa and Annabeth, it's easier than walking underwater usually is – I figure it's because of their bubbles. There are lots of mer swimming by overhead, and that'd be way faster, but it would be rude to leave the others behind. Besides, I'm sure I can come back later – if I learn to whirldive, it won't take any longer to get here from the Hudson than it did from Baltimore.

I love Atlantis just as much as I loved the bazaar in Baltimore. It's clearly much wealthier than the bazaar was – monsters aren't second-class citizens here, they're every citizen. But it still has the same magical spark that mortal society lacks, and the same wild freedom that's missing from Olympus.

We don't walk straight through the doors of the Palace of Atlantis. Instead, Medusa shows us to a swanky apartment building across the street from one of the palace's side walls, where we're ushered into the basement and then through a tunnel.

As the tunnel opens up onto the grounds of the palace, my father is there to meet us. Like us and Medusa, he's wearing Greek robes this time, but he still looks every bit the grizzled fisherman I met on Olympus, and human-sized too.

It's only after he runs the last few steps and wraps me up in a hug, do I realize that there's no decorum standing between us, on the grounds of Father's own palace.

"It's good to see you again, Percy," he says, pulling away after a long, warm hug. "And using Medusa's gift, too. I wish I'd made some of those myself."

"Thanks. I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too," he says warmly. "Now, what do you want to do this evening? I believe Medusa conveyed my offer to teach you to whirldive, and to use your abilities in general, but if that's not what you want—"

"That's absolutely what I want!" I say, and Dad laughs.

"Very well," he says. "I just have a few things to take care of first." He turns to Medusa. "Have you heard anything more about the Crooked One's next move?" he says. "No new rumors? And his agents still aren't recruiting openly at the bazaar?"

"I haven't, and they're not," Medusa says. "But they're also none too subtle."

Poseidon sighs. "That's about what I expected," he admits. His eyes pass over mine and Annabeth's, both of us curious, and he decides to explain for us. "If war is to come, we may not be in the best position. There are many who would fight against my brother, and few beyond his children who would fight for him."

"He's an awful king," I say bitterly.

"I wonder about that," Poseidon says, and I blink at him, confused. "Whether he is an awful king, or merely a king. Had I been the one to draw the longest straw, would mortals now bemoan the violent, capricious sea? Would the most beautiful fear to set foot on the beach, lest they be ravished by a passing wave? I cannot say. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Percy. You need not let go of your complaints, but do not assume that you or Medusa or even I would outdo him, if given his power."

My head tilts as I stare at my father. He still looks like the young fisherman, but I don't think he's ever sounded older.

"I agreed with my brothers to choose a king, because I hoped that it would be me. So did they, for the very same reason. Sometimes I wonder if that wasn't the biggest mistake any of us ever made. Whether any god or man should hope for that power, let alone accept it."

"Aren't you the King of the Sea?" Annabeth asks, pointedly.

"Yes, but these days my people more often call me the God of the Sea. Atlantis has had an elected city council for two hundred and thirty years, and they've been slowly gaining more and more power over civic matters. I try to stay out of it these days. There are some things that only a god can handle, and I focus on them."

"What are they?" I ask.

Poseidon chuckles. "Storms, sea life, and keeping mortals and the monsters of the deep out of each others' way, most obviously. There's more, and more magical, but I'm afraid my brother would be angry if I went into the details. Even with, as far as he knows, just another merman and his friends."

"A merman you're treating an awful lot like family," Annabeth observes.

"A lot of mermen are family to me," Poseidon says with a grin I've only ever seen in the mirror before. "No one will notice."

We take a walk around the castle. I meet my stepmother Amphitrite and my half-brother Triton. I think it goes all right – could be better, could be worse, especially considering I'm Poseidon's illegitimate son, in the company of another of his lovers. But I get the sense they're glad that I'm blending in as a mer, and not making them put up with a hero of Olympus trying to make his name.

As promised, Father teaches me to whirldive next – Medusa and Annabeth go find something else to do, they couldn't possibly keep up with this – and it's even more fun doing it myself than having someone else carry me along. And he teaches me how to make bubbles like the ones Medusa and Annabeth have been using, so I can bring them along next time. I master it fast, so we end up with time to spare. Turns out I'm a natural at making storms, too – Dad has me help with a hurricane out in open ocean, on the other side of the world since night has fallen on the East Coast.

We spend a little time back in Atlantis, the city all lit up with streetlights and bioluminescent fish. Dad takes the form of another mer, just as inconspicuous as me. For the most part, we just swim around, watching the people around us. But it's getting late, and before too long, we head back toward the palace.

"So, now that I know how to whirldive..." My father slows in the water and turns to me, as I swim below him. "Can I come back? To Atlantis?"

"Of course, Percy," my father says. "You're my son, and that means this is your home. But... we will have to be careful. Other gods visit Atlantis far too often for comfort, and more watch us from Olympus." He smiles. "I'll show you what I've come up with. Follow me, son."

Father swims off again, fast and purposeful. Before too long, we've arrived – at the same apartment building Medusa took us to before. A doorman let us in before. But this time, we stop at the balcony at the top of the building, and there's no doorman up here. I expect Father to let us in, but he doesn't – he fishes a Celestial Bronze key out of his robes, but presses it into my hand. It tingles, just a little, as I get a grip on it.

"Open it," he tells me. I gingerly stick the key into the door and turn it. It works, and we step into the very top of the building's big open atrium. "Now head to the sixth floor."

For a moment, my surface instincts kick in – I look for stairs or an elevator, even though I don't need one under the sea. I shake my head and laugh, then swim straight down the atrium, onto the sixth floor landing.

"Number six-oh-two," Father says proudly. "Open it."

Once again, my key works on the door. And when it opens, I see a whole apartment, fully-furnished but empty of people. It's swanky, all brass and marble and scaly leather, and the whole back wall is a window onto the palace and the city street below. I turn to Dad. "Is this for me?" I ask.

"It is," Dad says, stepping inside and closing the door behind us. Once he does, he turns back into his usual form. "Truthfully, I should give you quarters in the palace... but this is much subtler. A place for you to stay in Atlantis, whether or not the gods are watching, and whether or not you need to see me. You can Iris-call to see if I'm available." He motions to the table by the window, where a gadget is releasing a steady stream of bubbles, a light built into its base casting an easy rainbow (airbow?) through it. A few drachmas sit on the table beside it. I won't even have to pay. "And, of course, your key will work on the tunnel, too. It's tied to your soul, so you can't give it to anyone else, but it will work for you no matter what form—"

He cuts off as I hug him. "Thank you, Dad," I say. "For everything. I promise I'll visit."

"Of course, Percy. I should have done more for you, and sooner." He strokes my crest, and we separate. "Now, there's a bedroom around here somewhere. And an Atlantean-style bathroom, which you might find interesting..."

That does sound interesting – how would a bathroom work when I'm already immersed in water? – but a flash of blonde on the road out front catches my eye through the window. I haven't seen much blonde in Atlantis, seems like there aren't blonde mer... but what I see instead is a blond-feathered harpy I know very well. "Annabeth and Medusa are outside," I tell Dad.

"Right on time. We should head out, then."

We leave the apartment and meet them outside. While I was learning to use my water powers, they went to the Museum of the City of Atlantis, a showcase of the city's architecture and urban planning through the millennia. Annabeth loved it, though Medusa ribs her a little about how she had to stop and read every single thing in the museum. ("Hey, so did you!" "We are sisters.")

We don't go back to that booth in the plaza. This time, I'm the one to bring them back to Baltimore, to the public steps outside the bazaar – though we do still have to drive the rest of the way back to Medusa's diner in New Jersey. Next time, Medusa promises, I can whirldive us the whole way, but she has to pick up her car. Still, the drive is fast enough this late at night.

Medusa parks her car in the warehouse again – the window Gabe broke is still boarded up – and we walk out into the diner, Medusa turning the lights on behind us. "It's been a long day," she says. "Does anyone want some soft pretzels?"

Annabeth and I share a smile before agreeing. We end up sitting side-by-side at the counter, just like the first time we came, though with a lot less junk food between us. Her dad should be by any time to pick her up, but like we planned, I'll be staying the night. Mom will come get me in the morning.

"So, how was it?" I ask Annabeth, once we've both finished. "You were worrying so much this morning..."

"I guess I was," she says with a smile. "I liked Atlantis best. It seemed like a really nice place... especially that museum."

"Why am I not surprised you loved the museum?" I ask. She shoves me, and we both laugh. "Atlantis is great... but I was more wondering about Baltimore."

"And the monsters," she says. I can't help but nod. "Well, I understand what you see in them. I can't believe it took me so long, but... they're people. Good people, mostly. The bazaar was probably the liveliest place I've ever been, as a demigod. But I think you remember one stall in particular I'm not happy about."

I wince. Yes, I do.

"So if you're asking whether I'm gonna try and talk Chiron into letting us take the camp van down there... well, obviously not. That would definitely go badly. But if they didn't have to eat us, and we didn't have to fight them... imagine what our pantheon would be like then."

I nod, but just then the front door of the diner jingles open – Annabeth's dad, there to pick her up. We say goodbye, and Medusa shuts the diner down behind them, leading me upstairs.

I finally get to try the guest bed – it's great – but I can't get to sleep right away. After half an hour of tossing and turning, I get up. I dig to the bottom of my duffel bag, and pull something out, something cold and tingly against my hand.

I step into Medusa's office, holding up the hourglass Luke had given me. I show it to her, and explain how I got it. What it means.

"What do you think I should do?" I ask her.

It had been a long day. But Medusa didn't look at all tired, until this moment. "I don't know," she says. "Do you truly believe that the King of the Titans would be better than the King of the Gods? For the world as a whole, as well as the monsters?"

"No, of course not!" I say. "But I wonder if you think differently."

Medusa sighs. "Like I said, I do not truly know the King of the Titans. He's been dead far longer than I have been alive... but I've spent some time dead, too. Even centuries ago, when he stirred, the denizens of Tartarus were able to talk to him." A faint smirk crosses her face. "I found his epithet well-given. He said exactly what his listeners wanted to hear, and that is why I cannot trust the Crooked One."

I nod sharply. "That's what I thought."

"So you're wondering about the second thing Luke said. That you should join him now, for fear of his disfavor should he win."

"Yes," I admit. "Even Dad said the war didn't seem to be going well."

"I wish I could say that you should stick to your convictions, no matter how bad things look," Medusa says, seeming weary, her snakes all turning away from me. "The truth is, sometimes fear is the right choice. I have done many things in fear of the wrath of the Olympians, and because of that I enjoy the comfortable life I now lead. In most years, in most ages, I would say your father can and will protect you from anything. But now..."

She takes a deep breath, picking up a pen from the table and twirling it between her fingers, a nervous tic oddly like Annabeth's.

"Every age has its end, Percy. And that can be a good thing. Everyone but Hesiod would tell you that the Silver Age was far better than the Golden that preceded it. The King and Queen of the Gods improved life for all under their domain, mortal and immortal alike. I didn't see it for myself, but I've known very many who did."

It's hard to imagine an era where Zeus and Hera could mean progress.

"The world is still on its upward march for the mortals, and may that ever continue. But for us, for our pantheon... the pain of the Starving Age was unavoidable. There was no Tribute to be found in a world that forgot the gods and monsters of the Greeks and the Romans, that labeled us heresies and passed us by. Now the Tribute is rolling in again, and Zeus would have you believe that we're in the New Silver Age. But for the monsters of his domain, for all but the luckiest few, the Starving Age it remains. And that cannot stand." She puts the pen down and locks eyes with me again. "Something seems truly to have broken in our pantheon, and it may well take the toppling of the gods to fix it."

I nod, a lump rising in my throat.

"But you were wiser than you realize, Percy, talking to Luke on that beach. I would not be so quick to end the New Silver Age, unless I were sure the New Golden Age wouldn't turn out worse. On the other hand, if the New Golden Age will happen anyway... I would far sooner be its Midas than one of the statues it leaves behind." She reaches forward, her claws scratching under my chin. "You are still so young, Percy. You should not die for this."

"I'm not young for a demigod," I say bitterly. "Going by my fellow campers, my time must almost be up."

"It is not normal for demigods to die so soon. That, too, is a legacy of the Starving Age, never corrected. But you, Percy, I expect will live forever."

She expects me... to become immortal? "I thought the gods never did that any more!" I blurt.

"If you were a hero, they wouldn't. But it's not such a great thing for a god to create an immortal monster. And I do not think I've seen Poseidon so taken with a young son of his for a very, very long time. That mer visage of yours could become permanent in an instant, if you so wished."

"Huh." I smile, thinking about it. I... definitely wouldn't mind being a monster for real, or living forever. As long as I didn't have to hunt like those monsters at the bazaar, but Dad would keep giving me Tribute, right? "I'd like to stay a shapeshifter, if I can."

Medusa laughs. "Poseidon can manage that, too." Then she taps on the hourglass, looking contemplative. I'd demonstrated its immunity to gravity for her. It's sitting on the table, its sand once again pouring upward. As it's only been a week, there's still just the barest layer floating at the top of its otherwise empty upper bulb. "But you were wondering what to do with this hourglass?"

I nod.

"If you change your mind, if the Crooked One wins your trust, if you truly decide that the New Golden Age is your desire, then smash it and don't look back. But, until then, put it out of your mind."

"Even if it seems like he's winning?"

"If I decide that we have no choice but to join the Crooked One, that the Gods of Olympus will fall and the King of the Titans will rise no matter what we do... then I will let you know. I think myself more than competent to handle the fretting. Until then..."

Medusa folds her hands, her bright yellow eyes locking with my sea-green. Her snakes, usually so distractible, follow her gaze, all of them staring right at me. I trust Medusa, but it's still unnerving. I try not to squirm.

"Keep looking out for a better Age, Percy. Keep hoping, and keep believing. That might just be what makes it possible."

I don't even try to do anything about the almost painful smile spreading my face. "Thank you," I tell Medusa.

"Good night, Percy," she says, and smiles right back.

I take the hourglass from the table and hide it in my pocket once again. And when I sleep that night, I don't dream of wars and kings and revenants clawing their way up from Tartarus. I dream of a newer, brighter Age.