❃

"I don't smell demigod."

"Sniff harder then."

"I am. And I'm telling you, there's nothing here."

"Well, maybe there's an enchantment on the apartment." Annabeth said, carefully peaking out over the window ledge to scan the living room. "Something that's concealing her scent."

"An enchantment?" Percy rolled his eyes. "It's a Manhattan apartment, not a witches hut Annabeth."

"This is her house, right?" Grover whispered. "We're not accidentally breaking into a cyclops' lair?"

Annabeth glared at him. "We're not breaking into anything, Grover. We're observing our surroundings and looking for clues."

"Whole lot of good that's doing," Percy muttered, climbing over the windowsill to get a better look inside. The house looked normal—normal enough for Percy's taste anyway. It was spacious and ornate, with long winding hallways and spotless tabletops. Probably a little too artsy. But nothing that screamed danger. The couches looked lived in, with thick blankets and fluffy pillows. There was even an old tortoiseshell cat lounging in the bay window. It didn't look the slightest bit interested in the three teenagers lurking outside, it was simply content to preen itself in the afternoon sun.

"What's so important about this girl anyway?"

Annabeth sighed. "We're you listening to a word Chiron said?"

"I might've zoned out a little. I don't remember much after 'necessary to an upcoming prophecy."

"You forgot the part where the Oracle hadn't issued anything yet. I mean, how does Chiron even know? I find it hard to believe that he trotted up into the attic to have a word with her."

Yeah, Percy might've forgotten that part. If he'd known any better, he'd guess Annabeth was envious. She hadn't been issued a solo quest at all in the six years she'd been staying at Camp. For some random girl to be dubbed the chosen one probably stung her. But Percy knew better then to make sense of the magic and mystery of gods.

Grover rubbed his hands together. "This is weird, guys! And random! If we're just collecting a demigod, why bring you two along? You're campers, not searchers."

Percy started fidgeting. "I guess you're right, whoever this girl is, she seems perfectly fine in this big fancy house."

"Shh!" Annabeth hushed him. "Maybe we'll find out when we spot her."

Before Grover could retort, they heard a noise come from inside.

At first, it sounded very much like a monster. A disgustingly dry wretch. Something that Percy was sure came withering out of a Egyptian sarcophagus. Connecting that noise with the teenage girl hunched over the kitchen counter made Percy's brain short circuit. His mind simply couldn't put the two together. The girl was around Annabeth's height, with hair as white as bones. All the colour must've have been leached out from excessive ageing or something, cause it was as brittle and grey as an old person's. She had it pinned back with one of those old rhinestone hair clips from the 1950's which Percy assumed must've been an inside joke. The only thing about her that wasn't old was the Spongebob bandaids scattered across her face and fingers.

"You know I can see you, right?"

Percy was too stunned to speak. She didn't look the slightest bit fazed by his presence, or the fact that he was currently in the process of breaking into her home. She just stared at him with her arms crossed over her chest, an uncompromising ferocity burning behind her eyes. She pulled the roller on the curtains, revealing the rest of Percy's friends from behind the windowsill.

"I'm guessing Chiron sent you."

Percy had not expected that reaction.

"How do you know Chiron?" It was unheard of for someone to know about Chiron and not already be apart of Camp Half-Blood.

"He's like the sports teacher at your demigod summer camp or something. I recognised the tee-shirts. Not a good way of blending in, y'know? They're bright orange."

Percy was still speechless.

"You still didn't answer my question," Annabeth pointed out.

The girl shot Annabeth a withering look. Up close, her face was incredibly gaunt. Sunken and bruised like a banshee. She looked sick. Deathly sick, but somehow completely alert. She reminded Percy of the street cats that prowled around his neighbour, thin to the bone but ready to jump someone at a moment's notice. Her gaze shifted, and Percy felt like she was peeling back the layers of his skin with her eyes. Examining his x-ray, finding all his weak points and jotting them down in her mind. He started fidgeting. She was a little too intense, and the gold, honey-coloured glaze to her eyes didn't make him feel any less uncomfortable.

"It's none of your business," she decided. "Who even are you guys anyway?" She scanned our faces. "Is one of you...a faun?"

"Excuse you?!" Grover huffed. "I am not a faun!"

She stared at his legs, unfazed. "Oh."

"Grover is a satyr," Annabeth corrected. "And how can you see his hooves anyway? The Mist should be confusing you."

She shrugged. "Does it matter? I just proved that I can see through it anyway so what's the point in asking?"

"She has a point," Percy finally said, earning an elbow to the ribs from Grover.

Percy was at a loss. This strange girl knew about demigods, she knew about the Mist, she knew about Chiron! And yet, it all seemed like standard practice to her. She wasn't freaking out the slightest bit.

"Who are you?" Annabeth accused, taking the words right of Percy's mouth.

"I asked first." The girl countered.

"That's ridiculous."

"So be it. You're the one stalking me."

Annabeth stamped her foot. "I wasn't stalking you!"

"Agree to disagree, the point is you were planning on breaking into my house. So I'll be asking the questions."

"That seems pretty fair Annabeth," Grover admitted. "She could be calling the cops right now but she's not."

"See?" She threw her hands in the air. "This guy gets it."

"Fine!" She bit out. "I'm Annabeth, that's Percy and that's Grover."

"(Name)." She stated. "FYI, your trip was a total waste of time."

"How do you figure?" Annabeth rallied back.

"I wouldn't go to Camp Half-Blood if you paid me a billion dollars."

"Why not?"

"That's a lot of money," Grover murmured.

"Going there isn't going to solve my problem, it's just going to perpetuate false hope."

"Perpetuate false hope...?" Percy's brain spun. "What does that even mean, can't you speak like...normally?"

"Normally?"

"Like y'know...like a normal teenager," and not a know-it-all rich girl.

She raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I'll try." She straightened up. "Anyway. Chiron sent you to chaperone me back to Camp Half-Blood? Without explaining anything at all?"

"He said you were important to a prophecy, and that we needed to get you back to Camp as soon as possible. Or bad things would happen."

(Name)'s expression hardened. "What a fool."

Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "Chiron has the best interests of campers at heart. It's the safest place for you."

(Name) waved her off. "I'm not a demigod."

Percy's head lurched "What?!"

"Just what I said. I'm not a—" suddenly she flinched. It looked like she was about to vomit, but instead, a small stream of blood trickled from the side of her mouth. "...demigod." The word sounded broken and wispy from between her lips. She started to cough again. That same inhuman wheeze like a bag of cats being drowned in tar. The colour evaporated from her face, making the bags under her eyes look like bruises.

All Percy's brain could come up with was sick sick sick. She was not well.

"Are you okay?" Grover asked quietly.

(Name) let out a bitter sigh. "I mean, things could be better." She wiped her lip with a tissue. "The part Chiron conveniently forgot to tell you is that I've been cursed."

A deathly silence engulfed the room.

"Cursed?" Annabeth finally asked. "By who? Why?"

"You asked a lot of questions; you know that?"

"I do?"

"...yes."

"My mother says that information is the most powerful weapon."

"Is your mother a librarian?"

"She's an Olympian goddess."

(Name) sighed into her palms. "This is pointless. I'm arguing with a brick wall."

"We're not doing this for ourselves!" Annabeth sneered. "We came here to take you back to Camp Half-Blood and we're not going back empty handed. You're putting your family at risk by staying here! Don't you care about them at all?"

(Name)'s eyes seemed to glow. "I'm not a demigod. I very much doubt a hellhounds going to pop out of wall and eat me."

"Then why..." Annabeth eyes flickered up and down (Name)'s body. "Why would someone curse you?"

(Name)'s jaw clenched. "Do you have a problem with me or something?"

Annabeth's eyes hardened. "Maybe."

"Don't Annabeth." Percy warned.

"Simmer down, Annabeth," she hummed. "Don't want to beat up a sick person. That's bad karma."

Annabeth's face rushed with blood. "You little—!"

"Stop it!" Percy snapped, pulling at her arm. "She's just trying to get a rise out of you."

(Name) poked her tongue out. "She started it."

"Guys!" Grover bleated awkwardly. "We didn't come here to argue!"

"You can forget it," Annabeth sneered. "She isn't going to listen."

(Name)'s eyes narrowed. "You break into my house, insult me, then try to attack me and think its my fault for wanting nothing to do with you?! That's some audacity."

"Insult you?!" Annabeth shrieked. "That's rich!"

Suddenly the doorknob to the front door started to rattle, and the wooden hinges groaned. (Name)'s face fell into indisputable dread. She cursed, fumbling with her hands. "That's my mom. You guys need to leave."

She pushed them back through the window. There wasn't a lot of force behind her hands, but gravity did most of the work. As soon as Percy's legs shifted he felt himself starting to topple backwards. He hit the bark-chips like a contortionist Annabeth landing awkwardly on top of him. The window blinds clattered against the glass as (Name) pulled them back down. There was no way they could get back in with an adult home. Percy doubted she'd be as forgiving.

"Hey, chickadee!" A cheery voice called. "I'm just popping back to check on you."

(Name)'s mother dropped her bag and keys on the kitchen bench and shucked off her jacket. "Have you taken your meds?" She asked, placing a soft kiss on (Name)'s head. "It's almost one, remember what I told you about having them too late?"

"Yes mom," she muttered, rubbing at her eyes.

"Good." Her mother fiddled with a container. "I bought this from the pharmacy while I was out. It's supposed to ease the pain of ulcers. Figured it couldn't hurt to try."

(Name) sat down next to her and popped the box open.

Her mother sighed. "I know its not much, but it's better than nothing."

"I know," she replied, squeeing the gel onto the pad of her finger and lathering it across the back of her molars.

"My memory is getting worse," she complained. "Wisdom in the place of virtue is a garbage philosophy. How are you supposed to be wise when you can't remember where you put your phone."

(Name) flicked the cap closed on the tube of gel. "Tough luck Dumbledore."

"How dare you," her mother gasped in mock offence. "I'm not that old."

"Y'know....If you were Dumbledore, you could potentially have the knowledge and magical prowess to come up with a spell that'd help you find your phone."

(Name)'s mother grumbled something under her breath, and her phone began to buzz.

"That's probably your father. He promised to call when he arrived."

(Name)'s father was currently out of town dealing. His uncle Rodger had passed away from lung cancer a couple weeks again and his side of the family was pretty divided on the matter, half of them simply wanting to claim his assets and the other half unbothered by his death. There was no middle ground to speak of that didn't involve her father, who A) actually liked his uncle, and B) wanted nothing to do with his bachelor pad or his accumulative wealth. So, he'd been unceremoniously dubbed as power of attorney and had been forced to drive down to Philadelphia to help the moving team sort his stuff into storage.

It was painful watching her mother try to navigate her phone, so she turned her attention to dining room clock. Watching the hands tick back and forth eased the discomfort in her mouth. There was something so incredibly mundane about the presence of time that she seemed to lose herself in it.

Her father picked up almost instantly. "Hey hun, hows it going?"

"Okay, I suppose. (Name) was vomiting up blood this morning."

That's what the cream was for. (Name) had been struggling with a lung infection for the past couple months. Her pulmonary functions had been down and she hadn't been able to stomach any food. It was hell sitting in that hospital bed, feeling bloated and nauseous all at once. The damage was definitely taking its toll. Sometimes she'd wake up at struggling to breath and it was honestly kinda terrifying. She'd only been released from hospital three weeks ago, and all the anti-inflammatories they'd given her were giving her ulcers. She was grumpy and unapproachable to any sort of compromise. Annabeth's insistence hadn't helped her mood.

"Technically it's not vomiting—it came from my lungs, not my stomach."

"(Name)," her mother sighed. "You're not funny."

She huffed. "I thought that was good."

Her dad laughed, but it was crackly and distorted through the speakers. "I mean...she's not wrong hun."

"Do not side with her, you manchild."

"I am not a manchild!" Her father protested. "I know how to do my own taxes—that immediately disqualifies me from being a manchild."

"Dad has a point."

"Would you both just shut up and listen to me for once?" Her mother sighed.

A rumble of laughter sounded from the phone. "You wouldn't believe the weird stuff that's been rotting away in Uncle's house. So much antique rubbish."

"I can believe it. He did love his arts and crafts."

"How about twenty million species of wildflowers. That man was going to turn into a pot plant if he hadn't died."

(Y/N)'s mother frowned awkwardly. "You can't help dementia."

"Smoking three packets a day probably didn't help."

"That's your own uncle you're talking about." She chastised.

"Oh like he would care," he dismissed.

"Well, I've gotta go, work and all. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye honey, bye (Y/N)."

The call ran dead. Instantly her mother bounced to her feet, fumbling around to stuff papers into her bag.

"Hey, mum." (Y/N) found herself calling, hating the indifference in her voice.

"Yeah?" She called back, not paying attention.

"Do you ever wonder what happened to my...um...birth—"

"Parents?" Her mother finished. She'd straightened up a little, and her attention was solely focused on (Y/N) now.

"I use to a lot when you were little," she admitted. "After all the IVF trials and trips to the Czech Republic, finding you was a miracle. I couldn't fathom the idea that...well..." she shook her head. "I resented them for a good while, but now they barely pass my mind. You're my special girl, I would've traded all the wealth in the world to to have you. It's their loss. "

She stared at her, stunned. "Really?"

"Of course sweet-pea," she cupped (Y/N)'s cheeks. "You're my baby."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "I love you, mum."

"I love you too," she ruffled her hair. "What brought this up?"

She frowned. "I don't...get it."

"Get what?" She asked.

"...I don't understand how dad can talk about Uncle Rodger like that? Isn't he sad?"

Her mother smiled again, but this time it was a little forced. "I think so, on the inside at least. But sometimes when people are sad, they hide it behind a smile because they don't want anyone to worry."

"Dad doesn't want us to worry about him?" She frowned. "Doesn't he know we already do that?"

"Yes, but he's stupid."

(Y/N) laughed.

"I know family is a strange notion for you. I know there's a lot of mystery surrounding your bloodline. But darling, we love you so much. Don't you ever doubt it." Her mother paused for a moment. "CHRIST! I'm gonna be late!"

(Y/N) erupted into giggles. Her mother was the smartest, most put-together businesswoman she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing, but she was also a complete scatterbrain.

"See you later." (Y/N) called, the smile burning into her skin.

She was out the door in seconds. "See you sweetie! We'll talk about this more later!"

As soon as she heard the ignition of her mother's car(Y/N) rushed down the hall and forced the linen cupboard door open.

"It's safe now."

The trio awkwardly stumbled into the hallway, caught off guard by the sudden motion of the door opening.

Percy's face was bright red, nervous from eavesdropping on such a private conversation.

"I think maybe we should—"

"Leave? Good idea." (Y/N) tugged at her ear nervously. "I don't want mum coming back and seeing you or something. That would be way to hard to explain, especially considering I'm supposed to be self-isolating."

"Self-isolating?" Annabeth frowned. "Why are you doing that?"

"Low immune-system issues mixed with a trial of new medication. It's complicated and to be honest I don't even know why I'm telling you."

(Y/N) glanced at her reflection in the marble bench-top. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she swallowed the thought.

"I want to show you guys something before you go, a little explanation of sorts."

(Y/N) turned and marched down the hallway. Percy wasn't sure why she had such a sudden change of heart, but he followed, too curious to refuse.

They hall stretched on longer than Percy had anticipated, habituating even more doors. The walls were decorated with giant landscape art. Some were hyper-realistic earthworks, others were oil paintings, some were just photography. At the end of the hallway, the room opened up into a stylishly small home library.

"I've been researching into it since I met Chiron. Most of the books I've bought are convoluted. Different stories for the same mythos. Bias articles from historians. Photo evidence of amphoras and other greek artefacts that make no sense," (Y/N) plucked a book off a shelf and started flicking through it. "If it's true that Hades—god of the Underworld and all that jazz—was responsible for the curse, that means there's are a million different poisons straight from the depths of Tartarus he could've used. All that don't have a cure."