Chapter Text
It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to think. Dr. Thorn shoved them into the hall. The exit to the gym closed and they were engulfed in darkness with only the moon to provide them light. He seized Isra and Nico by the bicep, half-dragging them as he set a brisk pace.
Nico winced, trying to free his arm. “Let go!”
Fear shone in Bianca’s eyes. “Dr. Thorn, you’re hurting them! Nico won’t take his cards out anymore. I swear!”
Isra struggled against his hold, but for a skinny old man, he had a grip like iron.
Her leg burned trying to match his long strides. She wanted to thwack him on the head and worry about the police later.
Shadows danced across his face, making his features twist and contort into a ghoulish mask. It was the shadows, she told herself. He had appeared the same way in her dream. That’s why her mind was imagining things. Dreams meant nothing. They had to mean nothing.
“Cease your struggles,” he growled. She hated his stupid French accent. “This is not about your childish game! I’m afraid the school never received your tuition for the spring semester. We must discuss your expulsion from Westover Hall—immediately.”
“What?” Bianca gasped. “No, there must be some kind of mistake. If we could just talk to our lawyer—”
“Oh but it is too late,” Dr. Thorn said in a sorry tone that made her think he wasn’t sorry at all. “The moving company is on its way to clear your dorms. I’ll have to escort you off-campus, children.”
Isra scowled. “I don’t believe you. Where is Ms. Gottschalk? The principal should be telling us this, not you!”
He sneered. His ghostly eyes sent a chill down her spine. “That won’t be possible, girl. You brats are coming with me. Or else!”
He didn't say it like an overzealous vice principal. He said it like a mad man ready to murder them and bury the evidence.
Isra and Bianca met eyes. Isra dipped her chin and without hesitation, Bianca grabbed onto her little brother and pulled. Thorn shouted as she yanked Nico free, seemingly having underestimated how strong she appeared. His hand shot out, but the hold he had on her bicep weakened and Isra used the opening to steal herself away.
At the same moment, she brought up her arms like a batter at base—and struck.
A loud crack reverberated from where her cane made contact with Thorn’s knee. He bellowed and hunched over from pain. Bianca held Nico’s hand, and with the free one she reached for Isra’s. She shook her head, and waved her cane. “Go!”
“Yeah, right!” Bianca hissed.
She took her hand by force and pulled Isra to run with them. There wasn’t time to argue. Their sprint into the school echoed off the walls like the stampede of a spooked herd. She didn’t know how long they were running for—the adrenaline made it feel like mere seconds—but they ended up by Ms. Sampson’s science lab. Just a corner and six doors down from the school exit, where freedom awaited.
So, of course, Dr. Thorn caught up with them right then.
She heard the whistle of something flying through the air. Pain erupted in her shoulder and the force of whatever hit her, sent Isra crashing to the floor. Bianca and Nico skidded to a stop. Bianca pushed Nico forward, “Run! I’ll be right behind you!”
She ran back for Isra as the girl pushed herself onto her feet. Isra reached to staunch her wound; a bleeding slice across her upper bicep. Pain pulsed in waves from the cut. The eye-watering stench of venom stung her nose. Bianca linked their arms. At the edge of her vision, she saw what Thorn must have attacked her with. A blade. No, that wasn’t right. It was too cylindrical. It was a spike.
Nico didn’t listen. He rushed to their side; a white-knuckled grip on Bianca’s sleeve.
“I told you—!” Bianca cried.
He shook his head furiously. “No!” His other hand trembled. He was holding something. A toy soldier.
“You vile wretch!” Thorn said, stalking towards them—with a notable limp.
He had stood at the end of the hall. He threw from that far?!
He shook with fury, and with his every step, they retreated down the closest corner.
Thorn’s shadow stretched across the floor and warped before her eyes. Two legs became four, and its hulking form could only be described as that of a beast with a writhing tail.
“If my Lord had not entrusted me with your safe delivery, I would have your head for that insolent display, Ms. Salem.”
Isra switched to a two-handed grip on her cane. “You’re all bark and no bite! I wonder how’d you do in a fair fight without having cheap tricks to resort to.”
He let out a murderous growl. It thundered louder than someone like Twiggy Thorn should be capable of.
Bianca tugged on her sleeve and urgently whispered,“Isra, what are you doing?”
She shoved her off and strode forward. “I want to have a chat with this Lord of yours. If I’m such a high priority, then why did he send the help to come get me?”
A flicker of movement behind Thorn caught Isra’s attention for a moment. Before she focused on him again. A feline smile twitched at his thin mouth.
“My, such a brave display from such an…unassuming form.” He stalked forward, but Isra refused to be rattled. “I can see why the Lord is interested in having you. Only a certain breed of half-blood could possess your level of audacity. But child—you reek of fear.”
She clenched her jaw.
Gindi jaagi fenti kammun.
[(Nobíin) A proverb against fear.*]
“Then take me,” she challenged. “What’re you waiting for?”
“No!” Bianca stepped up and threw out an arm in front of Isra. “You can’t! Please, sir, stop this. We don’t have anything you want. There’s a bank trust, but we’re orphans! We don’t even have control over it until we're adults. What would your—your Lord gain by taking Isra?”
Thorn laughed. “What a mortal mindset! This isn’t about money, child. Neither have I tolerated this maddening, fetid school for a single little girl. You and your brother are joining your dear friend and together you will serve a cause greater than you could possibly envision.”
Somewhere, a padded cell is missing its inmate.
Suddenly, a set of doors burst open.
A boy came stumbling out of them. It took her a second to recognize him. He had entered the dance with Grover. The boy seemed about a year older than her, making him around fourteen-ish. He was tall, white, and had gilded curls. But she hardly cared about what he looked like when, in his hands, was a bronze xiphos. A three-foot long sword plucked from Ancient Greek history. It sent a weird kaleidoscope of light into her eyes. Which was somehow the second weirdest thing about their situation.
Thorn’s head snapped to the intruder. Blondie glanced their way, face filled with worry. He reached for his wrist, where a watch rested, but he was too slow and before Blondie could do whatever he planned on, something writhed behind Thorn. Another spike shot out. The boy slashed with his sword too late and the projectile forced him back, pinning him to the door by his coat.
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Thorn said. He approached Blondie, as he tried to free himself. “I wondered when one of Mr. Underwood's friends would crawl out of the woodwork. That stench. Who else could it belong to other than a Big Three child? Tell me, Perseus Jackson—” his French accent mangled the J sound in the boy’s surname— “do you think your father will answer your prayers for aid? After all, we are so very close to the ocean.”
Isra's hand fell. Her fingers found Bianca’s, who squeezed tight.
Percy scowled, but his eyes were unfocused. The venom was sinking in.
“My name is Percy,” he said, “and I don’t need my dad’s help to kick your ass.”
Thorn chuckled, and another blur of movement swished at his back. A projectile flew—and Isra didn’t have time to blink before it sailed at Bianca. She yelped, as it missed her face by an inch and shattered the glass case at the end of the hall.
A satisfied smirk settled on Thorn’s face. He seemed to relish in breaking Percy’s earlier confidence. “All four of you will come with me. Quietly. Obediently. If you make a single noise, if you call out for help or try to escape again, I will show you just how accurately I can throw.”
⊹₊⟡⋆
Dr. Thorn urged them on faster than before. He had taken Isra’s cane, not willing to suffer another shattered kneecap. She had an arm over Bianca’s shoulder, their fingers looping together, and tried to balance her weight as they practically jogged out of the school. Nico kept a hand in the crook of Isra's free arm and refused to take his shiny eyes off Thorn.
The new guy, Percy, Perseus—who cared—started to slow down. He closed his eyes, like he was trying to become one with the Force.
“What are you doing, Jackson?” hissed Dr. Thorn. “Keep moving!”
He opened his eyes and made a show of being too injured. “It’s my shoulder,” he lamented. “It’s killing me!”
Percy gave her a look and Isra sighed internally.
This is never gonna work.
She nursed her cut anyway and sobbed. “I-I think I've lost too much blood. Everything’s starting to spin…”
“Silence your moaning! You’ve hardly bled through.”
“But it burns!” Percy groaned.
“My poison causes pain.” Thorn gritted his teeth. “It will not kill you. Walk!”
Thorn herded them to the trees. Crickets chirped their songs where they hid, unaware of their death march into the woods. They took a snowy path lined by oil lamps. It led to the cliffside, where the ocean crashed against the rocks. She loved the view at the top. The sunset was beautiful. In any other circumstances, she’d be happy to head there. Except for now.
Isra’s pulse pounded, the image of their bodies dashed on the rocks below popped into her head. Calm down. Thorn wanted them alive for his “Lord.” He wasn’t going to kill them. Some of his threats back there had to be bluster. Was that the angle she needed? It certainly opened more chances to escape.
She slipped her arm from Bianca’s shoulder, and closed the distance between her and Percy. “Grover.”
He started. “What?”
“You came with Grover and those girls. Do they have weapons? Are they aware of our…” she glanced at Thorn, “situation?”
He nodded. “They’ll come for me. For us.”
“Quiet your murmurings!” Thorn demanded.
She glanced at Percy. “This is why everyone hates the French.”
Percy gave her a weird look. Nico giggled (which Thorn glared at him for). Bianca muttered an “oh my god” filled with despair.
Dr. Thorn scowled and grabbed Isra by the injured arm, sending a burst of pain that went down her spine. He practically dragged her up the path with him. He ignored Bianca and Nico’s protests, and declared, “There is a clearing ahead. We will summon your ride.”
“What ride?” Bianca demanded. “Where are you taking us?”
“Silence, you insufferable girl!”
“Don’t talk to my sister that way,” Nico said, voice quavering.
He needed to stay quiet. Thorn had barely targeted him. Out of all of them, he could be the first to make a break for it.
Thorn growled again. The sound sent goosebumps down her neck. Isra’s vision became hazy. She blinked, trying to reset her eyes, but it didn’t work. That’s when she noticed it wasn’t her vision failing. Only one person blurred in and out of focus. Thorn. She looked at his hand on her arm. What should’ve been human fingers blinked in and out, skin morphing into fur and nails into wicked claws.
What the fuck?
“Halt,” Thorn said.
The woods opened to the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, the waves churned and winter wind blew in the scent of seawater. Mist hung in the air, obscuring most of the inky horizon. She shivered, not because of the cold, and swore she heard a dog howl in the distance.
Dr. Thorn shoved Isra’s cane into her hands, and gave her a look that promised punishment if she tried something. He pushed them to the edge of the cliff. Isra balanced herself, but Percy stumbled and Bianca caught him.
“Thanks,” Percy murmured.
“What is he?” she whispered. “How do we fight him?”
“I…I’m working on it.”
“I’m scared,” Nico mumbled. He was fiddling with his metal toy soldier.
Isra squeezed his shoulder.
“Stop talking!” Dr. Thorn said. “Face me!”
They turned.
His blue and green eyes glittered hungrily. He pulled a cellular device from under his coat and pressed a button. “The package—it is ready to be delivered.”
Percy sent a cursory glance over the cliffside. He wasn’t think about—there was no way! Isra looked at the steep edge. She squinted. The fog glowed bright. Like there was a lighthouse beacon shining from the rocks. But that made zero sense! Was there a ship floating near the shore? Did it have a searchlight?
Dr. Thorn laughed. “By all means, Son of Poseidon. Jump! There is the sea. Save yourself.”
Isra stiffened. “Poseidon…?”
“I’ll explain later,” Percy said.
“You do have a plan right?” Bianca whispered.
She would have been more worried about that if a buzzing hadn’t started inside her ears. It droned on loudly like someone shook a bag of bumble-bees and poured them into her skull.
“I would kill you before you ever reached the water,” Dr. Thorn said. To Percy, she realized. “You do not realize who I am, do you?”
A flicker of movement behind him, and another missile whistled so close to Percy that it nicked his ear. Something had sprung up behind Dr. Thorn—like a catapult, but more flexible… almost like a tail.
"Unfortunately," Thorn said, "you are wanted alive, if possible. Otherwise, you would already be dead."
“Who wants us?” Bianca demanded. “I-I don’t know what's happening, but we’re not going to fall for whatever cult-y business spiel your boss has ready for us!”
He chuckled darkly. “I think you will find, dear, that there are few choices offered to children like you. And there are worse masters to earn glory under. Isn’t that right, Percy?”
Isra looked at him. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Percy spoke no contradictions.
Well, that’s reassuring…
“Luke,” Percy said. “You work for Luke.”
Dr. Thorn’s mouth twisted with distaste. “You have no idea what is happening, Perseus Jackson. I will let the General enlighten you. You are going to do him a great service tonight. He is looking forward to meeting you."
"’The General?’" Percy asked, mimicking his French accent. Then he blinked and said it in his American one. "I mean… who's the General?"
Thorn looked toward the horizon. "Ah, here we are. Your transportation."
Isra turned and saw a light breaking through the fog. She heard the chopping of helicopter blades getting louder and closer.
“Where are you taking us?" Nico said.
"You should be honored, my boy. You will have the opportunity to join a great army! Just like that silly game you play with cards and dolls."
"They're not dolls! They're figurines! And you can take your great army and—"
"Now, now," Dr. Thorn warned. "You will change your mind about joining us, my boy. And if you do not, well… There are other uses for half-bloods. We have many monstrous mouths to feed. The Great Stirring is underway."
“The Great Stirring?” Isra asked.
Sounds like a stew competition.
"The stirring of monsters." Dr. Thorn smiled evilly. "The worst of them, the most powerful, are now waking. Monsters that have not been seen in thousands of years. They will cause death and destruction the likes of which mortals have never known. And soon we shall have the most important monster of all—the one that shall bring about the downfall of Olympus!"
"Okay," Bianca whispered to her. "He's completely nuts."
"We have to jump off the cliff," Percy told them quietly. "Into the sea."
"Oh, super idea. You're completely nuts, too."
He never got the chance to defend his sanity, because just then an invisible force slammed into him.
⊹₊⟡⋆
Isra had a split-second to reconsider her own state of mind. She thought she might be suffering from actual bloodloss—until the same ghost knocked into her, plowed over the di Angelos, and every one of them went sprawling.
Dr. Thorn sent a volley of spikes at them, but they zipped harmlessly over them.
From the mist, Grover and Ms. Punk-Rock manifested. She wielded a bronze shield. Emblazoned on the front was Medusa’s snarling head. Like a replica of Athena’s Aegis from Greek myth. (Or Zeus’ depending on the story.) A bolt of fear arced irritatingly in her head. Isra flinched and looked away because it felt like she had to. It was odd, like her brain’s nerve signals weren’t translating smoothly.
It had the same effect on Dr. Thorn, if not worse. He winced and growled like a bad cat being sprayed with water.
Ms. Punk-Rock moved in with a huge spear in the other hand. “Aera!”
Wind? Isra wondered, though she recognized it as Greek. Some type of battle cry?
Ms. Punk-Rock jabbed at his head, but he snarled and swatted the spear aside. His hand changed into a golden paw—like from before—and he swiped his enormous claws against her shield. She moved with the momentum and rolled backward, landing on her feet.
The sound of the helicopter drew closer, but Isra's eyes were glued to the fight in front of them.
Dr. Thorn launched another volley of missiles at the girl, and she could finally see what threw them. A long, leathery tail shaped like a scorpion’s, bristled with spikes at the tip. The missiles deflected off her shield, but the force of their impact knocked her down.
Isra gasped, hands closed around her cane. Scorpion tail. Lion paws. All that weird growling.
“Manticore…” she breathed.
“Manti-what?!” Bianca said.
It was like she uttered the magic words to break an illusion. Thorn’s eyes widened, and mist billowed off his form. He grew and grew, with fur sprouting from his skin and spikes covering his entire leathery tail. His face turned into a snarling lion’s and he let out a furious roar.
Isra covered her ears and gaped at Thorn’s new—true form.
“Thorn.” That—was actually a little clever…I'm not gonna lie.
Grover sprang forward. Glitter sparkled around his hands, and he blew into reed pipes, playing a frantic jig that sounded like something from Pirates of the Caribbean. The melody flowed like tumbling rocks, to take root in the earth.
“A manticore?” Nico gasped. “He’s got three thousand attack power and plus five to saving throws!”
I’ve changed my mind, Isra cringed. Every time is not Mythomagic time!
More sparkles appeared on the grass, and the blades broke through the snow. Within seconds, rope-thick weeds were wrapping around Dr. Thorn's legs, entangling him. Her eyes widened. Okay, she had a long list of questions for lip whiskers when everything was over. And if they both made it out alive.
Next to Percy, a girl materialized. Isra jumped. It was the last one of his friends that had crashed the dance. She had skin the color of mahogany and long goddess braids tied back into a ponytail.
“That is a Manticore,” she said, holding a baseball cap in one hand. “You know your Greek mythology.”
“Ehhh…” Isra said, very intelligently.
“Who are you people?” Bianca demanded. She jabbed a finger at Thorn. “And how is that our vice principal?!”
Ghost Girl didn’t answer, or couldn’t. Instead she tackled them flat into the snow, shouting, “Get down!”
From their (second) time on the ground, she saw Percy hit his wrist-watch and bronze panels spiraled outward from the clock face, forming a circular shield. The mechanism hummed inside her ears. He lifted the shield, and blocked an incoming volley. The spikes dented the shield and nearly launched him off his feet.
The manticore’s tail swished through the air and hit Grover with a thwack, sending him into a snow pile with a yelp.
“Yield!” the monster roared.
“Never!” Ms. Punk-Rock yelled from across the field.
She charged the monster, but then there was a thunderous noise and blaze of light from behind them. Isra winced and clasped her ears. The helicopter appeared out of the mist, hovering just beyond the clouds. It was a sleek black military-style gunship, with wicked looking artillery attached on the sides. Her heart leaped into her throat. What the hell were Ancient Greek weapons supposed to do against that?!
The searchlights blinded Spear Girl, and the manticore swatted her away with its tail. Her weapons flew off in opposite directions, landing somewhere in the mist.
“No!” Percy ran to help her. He parried a spike just before it would’ve hit her chest. He raised his shield over them both, but another dozen spikes and it’d be good as scrap metal.
Dr. Thorn laughed. “Now do you see how hopeless it is? Yield, little heroes."
Bianca held Nico close. Isra clenched her jaw. They were trapped between a monster and a fully armed helicopter. What chance did they have?
Then she heard it. A clear, piercing sound: the call of a hunting horn blowing in the woods.
⊹₊⟡⋆
The manticore froze. His lion features shifted, morphing to a human face. Isra turned her eyes to the woods. There was noise coming from the underbrush. A deep melody. It sounded fierce, like several cellists, drummers, trombonists, and bass guitarists were playing allegro vigoroso.
[(Italian; music term) fast and vigorous]
“No,” Thorn breathed. “It cannot be—”
What it couldn't be was cut off short when a streak of moonlight launched from the trees. A glowing silver arrow sprouted from Dr. Thorn’s shoulder.
“Curse you!” he cried. He unleashed spikes, dozens of them at once, into the woods where the arrow had come from, but just as fast, silver arrows shot back in reply. They intercepted the thorns midair and sliced them in two.
Isra’s eyes widened. No. That was impossible. But then again… Manticores shouldn’t exist either.
Thorn pulled the arrow out of his shoulder with a howl of pain. His breathing was heavy. Percy tried to swipe at him with his sword, but Thorn dodged and slammed his tail into his shield, knocking him aside.
Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about eighteen. They wore silvery ski parkas and jeans, and they were all armed with bows. Now that she could see them, the music hushed to a low hum. But her vision flashed on one girl. She was maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her dark hair was gathered back in a ponytail and she had strange eyes, silvery yellow like the moon. She had a sweet, pretty face, but her expression was stern and dangerous.
Just the look of her filled Isra with more dread than Thorn ever did.
The girls advanced on the manticore with determined expressions.
“The Hunters!” Ghost Girl cried.
One of the older archers stepped forward with her bow drawn. She was tall and had coppery colored skin, and she moved with the elegance of a she-wolf. Unlike the other girls, she had a silver circlet braided into the top of her long dark hair. “Permission to kill, my lady?”
Isra couldn’t tell who she was talking to, because she kept her eyes on the manticore.
The monster wailed. “This is forbidden! Direct interference! It is against the Ancient Laws.”
“Not so.” The girl with chips of moon for eyes spoke, and Isra flinched. "The hunting of all wild beasts is within my sphere. And you, foul creature, are a wild beast." She looked at the older girl with the circlet. "Zoë, permission granted."
The manticore growled. "If I cannot have these half-bloods alive, I shall have them dead!"
He lunged at Percy and Ms. Punk-Rock, knowing they were weak and dazed.
“No!” Ghost Girl yelled, and she charged at the monster.
“Get back, half-blood!” Zoë said. “Get out of the line of fire!”
But she had already leaped onto the monster’s back and drove her knife into his mane. The manticore howled, turning in circles with his tail flailing as she hung on for dear life.
“Fire!” Zoë ordered.
“No!” Percy screamed.
But the Hunters let their arrows fly. The first caught the manticore in the neck. Another hit his chest. The manticore staggered backward, wailing. “This is not the end, Huntress! You shall pay!”
And before anyone could react, Thorn, with Ghost Girl still on his back, leaped over the cliff and tumbled into the darkness.
“Annabeth!” Percy yelled.
He started to run after her, but their enemies weren’t done with them. There was a horrible snap-snap-snap from the helicopter—the sound of gunfire. Most of the Hunters scattered as tiny holes appeared in the snow at their feet, but Moon Girl just looked up calmly at the helicopter.
"Mortals," she announced, "are not allowed to witness my hunt."
She thrust out her hand, and Isra’s ears popped when the helicopter exploded into dust—no, not dust. The black metal dissolved into a flock of birds—ravens, which scattered into the night. She gasped and continued gaping at where the helicopter used to be well after the fact. A strange flurry of amazement and fear fluttered in her stomach, like hyperactive butterflies.
Magic, she thought. Real magic.
Meanwhile, the Hunters advanced on them.
The one called Zoë stopped short when she saw Ms. Punk-Rock.
"You," she said with distaste.
"Zoë Nightshade." The girl’s voice trembled with anger.
"Perfect timing, as usual." Zoë scanned the rest of them. "Five half-bloods and a satyr, my lady."
"Annabeth!" Percy yelled. "You have to let us save her!"
The Moon Girl turned toward him. "I'm sorry, Percy Jackson, but your friend is beyond help."
He tried to struggle to his feet, but a couple of the girls held him down.
"You are in no condition to be hurling yourself off cliffs," she said.
"Let me go!" Percy demanded. Down below, she heard waves crack against the cliffside. "Who do you think you are?!"
Zoë stepped forward as if to smack him.
"No," the other girl ordered. "I sense no disrespect, Zoë. He is simply distraught. He does not understand."
She looked at Percy, her eyes colder and brighter than the winter moon.
"I am Artemis," she said. "Goddess of the Hunt."