Chapter Text
Percy Jackson had a singular gift.
And it wasn’t the hurricanes, or the talking to marine life, or that he was pretty decent with a sword. It wasn’t even that he’d survived a swim in the River Styx.
No, Percy’s true talent was in pissing people off.
And by people, that usually meant Olympian Gods.
She appeared in a flash of silvery light, right as Percy had felled the last of the Basilisks.
He’d gotten wind from Rainbow that the giant snakes had been feasting on the local sea turtle population, and it seemed an easy enough job to take care of on his first day of Thanksgiving break. Annabeth was visiting her dad in San Francisco, Grover was attempting to save some polar bears in the Arctic, Tyson was down in the forges, and his mom had to work. So, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do besides watch daytime television on the couch.
In hindsight, he supposed it made sense for a place like Honeymoon Island to be dedicated to Aphrodite—seeing as she was the Goddess of Love and all. He suddenly felt a burst of sheepishness at the wreckage he'd left behind. Of course he hadn't done it on purpose; destruction just happened to be a very common, and unintended, casualty of fighting monsters. Besides, it was just some palm trees, and maybe a few statues, and a pretty old looking altar. All of it was stuff Aphrodite could fix with a literal wave of her hand.
“Hey, handsome,” she chirped, friendly and teasing all at once. “Having a girlfriend looks good on you.”
The state of her place of worship didn’t seem to phase her, and as Percy looked up, her form flickered between a few different faces. Eventually, it settled into a tall girl about his age, with long hair—threaded through with waves and braids—and piercingly sharp eyes. She looked stunning (like always), but she also looked a lot like Annabeth.
Percy capped Riptide with an impatient sigh. In his experience, the gods only appeared when they wanted something. And it was usually something that would cause him a very large and very painful headache.
She wore a long, pale pink sundress that fluttered lightly when she walked, and she kept those eyes locked on him as she came to a stop about ten feet away on the beach.
"I see you got my summons." Aphrodite waved in the general direction of the downed trees and cracked pillars.
Any regret he’d had about decimating the place evaporated. "You brought the Basilisks here?"
“Obviously,” she huffed. "I need to speak with you. In private."
Percy gaped at her. "Can’t you just appear? Whenever you like?"
Aphrodite snorted loudly. The sound would've been undignified coming from literally anyone else. "And risk the eavesdroppers? No. No one can know about this little chat."
Anger bubbled in his stomach at the picked over sea turtle shells scattered along the seafloor, and the dozen or so nests that were now dug out and empty along the beach. At all that loss of life for absolutely no reason.
"How's Annabeth?" She asked with a coy smile.
Percy wasn't in the mood.
“Why don’t we just get to the part where you propose a quest, or whatever, so I can say ‘Absolutely not’ and go home.”
“Not a quest,” she replied lightly. “A warning.”
Percy glowered at her, but unfortunately a warning from a goddess couldn’t be totally ignored. He waited for her to continue.
“Our… Queen is missing.” Her voice dropped ominously. “I have reason to believe she has plans for you to rescue her. It will be deeply unpleasant, I’m afraid. And I would like to offer my assistance.”
“Help me?” he deadpanned. “Why?”
Aphrodite regarded him for a moment before her lips curled into a smile. “I have a vested interest.”
Disdain rose up in his throat at the memory of her promise in the limousine: that his love life would be interesting. “Uh, I’ll pass.”
Her demeanor changed, her smile losing humor. “You would scorn my patronage?”
He backed away, toward the surf crashing into the sand. “Yes, actually.”
And he meant it. Things were good. Finally. With Annabeth, with school, with his mom and Paul and all the rest. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was to be a pawn in the Goddess of Love’s schemes.
“Have it your way, Percy Jackson,” she called after him. “But know this, a test awaits you.”
Percy turned and gave her a lazy salute before diving beneath the surface.
The last he saw of Aphrodite, her eyes were narrowed in a calculated sort of way, so different to what he’d come to expect from her normal nonchalance. Percy maybe should’ve had a clue something bad was going to happen after that.
Bad didn’t even begin to cover it.
A loud pounding pulled him from sleep and Percy awoke with a start. He sat straight up in bed. His bed in Cabin Three at camp. Which was weird. The light filtered through the windows and reflected off the water in the fountain, so familiar and yet so jarring at the same time. Mostly because he was almost positive he’d gone to sleep in his own bedroom back in Manhattan.
The pounding started up again—an incessant knocking on the door—followed by, “Wake up, Seaweed Brain!”
Annabeth. That was Annabeth.
Percy tripped over his blankets in his rush and nearly cracked his skull on the footboard of Tyson’s empty bunk. But he could hardly spare a moment to care about his own consciousness, because something was absolutely not right. It was November. Thanksgiving. Annabeth was supposed to be in San Francisco with her dad.
And they definitely weren’t due back at camp until summer.
Yanking the door open, Percy squinted against the morning sunshine and prepared for the worst. The Titans had broken loose. Olympus war councils were reconvening. Half-bloods were going missing. Aliens were invading—
No, wait. Probably not aliens.
Whatever it was, Annabeth would explain. She always did.
Except this time, she frowned up at him, looking annoyed and unimpressed all at the same time. Her long hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and she was so painfully pretty Percy had a hard time breathing for a few seconds.
"You know," she shouldered past him and into the cabin. "Just because you show up in the middle of the night doesn't mean you're exempt from inspection."
Percy blinked. "Wait– What?"
Then he noticed the clipboard in Annabeth's hands, and her checking all the categories on her list as a one out of five.
Percy buried his indignation at complete failure. They had bigger problems.
"Annabeth, what's happened? What am I doing here? What are you doing here!? I thought you were in San Francisco?"
Her face went ashen. “How do you know about San Francisco?”
Percy thought this was a profoundly strange question, especially since she’d been talking about visiting her dad and her half-siblings all month.
“Is this a prank?” he asked, completely nonplussed and taking a half-step closer to her. “I swear, if you told me not to do anything for our three-month just to–”
Annabeth reeled back as if he’d just swung Riptide at her. She stood very still for about thirteen seconds before asking, “Did you raid the nectar cupboard again?”
Panic bubbled up in his chest. Real panic. “What?”
Her face smoothed into something flat and disappointed. “You know you’re not supposed to ingest it without–”
“Would you stop messing around!” Percy thundered. “Why the hell are you– Why are we at camp?”
“We… live… here.” She enunciated slowly.
“No. We. Don’t.” Percy replied, matching her tone. “You haven’t been a year-rounder since…”
He trailed off. Annabeth’s expression was laced with confusion, but also with something he hadn’t seen from her in months—maybe even years. She had her mask firmly in place; her eyes shuttered, her brows pinched, her mouth pressed into a hard line. If Percy didn’t know any better, he’d think she was shooting metaphorical arrows of intense dislike his way.
But he did know better.
“You’re assigned to armory inventory this week,” she clipped with an air of detachment. “And you’ll lead sparring at ten–”
She shifted her attention back to her clipboard and began to turn away. Percy couldn’t stand it.
“Annabeth…” he breathed, reaching for her upper arm to pull her back around. His fingers closed around the sleeve of her orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. She froze, her clipboard falling to the ground with a clatter.
Turning her head slowly, Annabeth frowned at the place his hand touched her skin, then her eyes flicked up to meet his. As he watched her, her countenance faltered and her mask slipped for the smallest moment. Percy didn’t immediately comprehend her expression; mostly because as someone who plans, and strategizes, and thinks six steps ahead of everyone else, Annabeth was so rarely caught off-guard.
He let out a harsh breath, stunned into speechlessness, as he realized she was glaring up at him half annoyed, and half… frightened.
Why would she be frightened?
He let go of her as if he’d been on the receiving end of an electric shock.
They gawked at each other for several hard breaths. Then finally, like a charm being broken, Annabeth’s scowl deepened.
“Sparring starts at ten.”
She left without another word, not even bothering to retrieve her clipboard.
Percy dressed quickly. Slamming out of the front door of Cabin Three, he trudged up to the big house with a determination bordering upon manic. November at camp was chilly, but not frigid. It was picturesque as always, with a low fog drifting above the strawberry fields and along the edges of the woods.
Launching himself up the front steps, Percy let himself in the front door and called through the high ceiling foyer, “Chiron? Rachel??”
He received no reply.
“Hello!?” He tried again. The large parlor and dining room were empty. Percy made his way to the back of the house and, through the kitchen windows, noticed a figure reclining on the porch.
“Mr. D!” Percy burst through the back door. “Where’s Chiron?”
Dionysus snoozed on, not even a twitch at Percy’s frantic voice.
“Mr. D,” Percy tried again. For a split second, he considered shaking the God of Wine and Revelry awake, but something stayed his hand. Percy may have been invulnerable thanks to his bath in the Styx, but Mr. D was still a divine Olympian. Capable of knocking Percy on his ass with hardly a thought. Or, you know, wiping him off the planet.
Percy waited for Mr. D to acknowledge him for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about a minute and a half, before throwing his hands up in frustration and resolving to go find Chiron himself.
He’d barely squinted in the direction of the Pavilion and the Amphitheatre when Mr. D’s low chuckle caught Percy’s attention.
“You’ve really stepped in it this time, eh, Perry?”
“Huh?” Percy whirled back around to see Mr. D in the same position, laid back in a lawn chair with his eyes still closed.
Mr. D didn’t expand on his first statement and instead replied with, “Chiron isn’t here.”
Percy’s shoulders slumped. “Where is he?”
Shrugging, Mr. D settled more deeply into his seat.
“What about Rachel?”
Mr. D didn’t respond, resuming his apparent snooze.
Percy tried again, “Grover?”
No reply.
“Nico?”
Nothing.
“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” Percy asked, already dreading the answer.
Mr. D snored loudly.
Percy swore.
He looked out over the Pegasai grazing peacefully in the pasture, at the small gathering of young campers checking out weapons from the armory, at a distinct and recognizable ponytail leading a lesson in the shady half of the arena.
Annabeth was here. Acting weird, sure, but still here. Percy supposed that was as good a place to start as any.