Chapter 2: God Police Write Mom a Ticket

‘The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again.’ That’s how the audiobook of Robert Jordan’s The Eye of the World starts. I must have listened to it at least ten times by now, but I still remember the first time. 

I was a cute six year old standing on a stool, being walked through using a kitchen knife on strawberries without murdering myself. Dad had turned down the sound there and said something like ‘Is that how it goes?’

My mother, hands gently guiding mine, had pressed a kiss into my hair and said ‘There is a certain safety in repetition.’

‘There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time,’ the old man narrated and I remember her laughing softly. It hadn’t been a happy sound. 

‘But it was a beginning.’

This beginning took place in Trinity’s boy’s bathroom. 

That’s the school I go to. Trinity School. It’s a K-12 private school in Upper West Side Manhattan and pretty nice as far as schools go. Nice building, nice facilities. A lot of extracurriculars, a modern library, the cafeteria didn’t suck and unlike my last school they did not have a fully armed and operational cannon in the front yard.  

It was stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.

I'm in sixth grade. Most of my teachers were cool. My geography teacher, Mr. Panotti was from Sicily and had ears he could use as a blanket, they were nearly as long as he was! I was pretty sure they don’t practice ear-stretching in Italy, but I’ve never been there, so what do I know? For science, I had Mr. Pretty who wasn’t, but he did have a great sense of humor. Everyone swore up and down that our English professor Ellen was an escaped Hollywood star hiding under a fake name, even if no one knew which one. Mr. Brunner was replacing Mr. Carlyle for the end of the year in Latin. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed alright for a centaur. He could be a merman of some kind, but I was pretty confident in my guess. My Pre-Algebra teacher was a blood sucking witch , but we had an understanding. If she behaves, I won’t bring my mother into it.

Trinity started two weeks earlier than other schools, but that just meant summer vacation came sooner too. I had one last final exam, Latin with Brunner, before I was home free. Nothing had burned down. Whatever exploded wasn’t my fault and best yet? It was not only Friday, but the third Friday of the month.

It was a study hall. My tutor had come to sign me out of the classroom so we could use a private room in the library. ADHD things. On the way there, nature called. Loudly. I had to go. Let’s just say the tabasco sauce on my breakfast eggs had not been my best idea. 

So there I was, in the boy’s bathroom of Trinity, taking a massive dump when the vision hit.

It's another Fate thing. Being able to see the past, present and possible futures were part of the package. As far as everyone and my medical history knows, I’m one of those unfortunates cursed with chronic migraines. It lets me keep my sunglasses indoors without questions and if I get the rare bad vision, I can sleep it off in the nurse’s office.

This one was Bad. 

I don’t mean one of the ‘sleep it off’ bad. I mean, cosmic imagery, mind opening and blood boiling Bad.

As in, seizing, shaking, clawing my face, shrieking and screaming fit Bad. 

The whole apocalyptic nine yards.

While on the toilet.

Taking that massive dump.

I don’t remember how I got to the Nurse’s Office. I’m hoping that’s because I managed to knock myself out, because if not, that means I was paraded through the hallways as the victim of an epileptic fit. Someone had bitten the bullet and pulled my underwear up, but the jury was still out on if my pants were part of a package deal or if I had flashed the entire school with Surfer Dude boxer shorts.

When I woke up (was released) in the Nurse’s Office, I clapped a hand to my sore face and hoarsely screamed. “Oh my fucking God! ”  

I would honestly take dumping my entire class into a shark pit over this. Because I didn’t need to come back next year. We had a good run. There were other Ivy League Prep schools in New York. Dad would understand.

“It gets better,” the voice of my tutor and best friend Cliff(ord) Randall drawled from somewhere to the left of me. He sounded like he was the bearer of bad news and loving it. “Your boxers were a complete write off so…” 

I shifted in bed and realized exactly what had happened. I had to be changed.

“I’m wearing diapers.”

“You’re wearing diapers.” 

There was only one thing I could say to that.

“Kill me.”

He made that amused sound he did. It wasn’t quite a laugh. I think he was allergic to those. It was more a short exhale of air and a grumble. “Ah, no. Sorry.”

He did not sound very sorry.

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my face. I briefly considered smothering myself with my pillow. I had some bad summer send offs before. Call me Buffy, because I had a gym burn down on me because of vampires. The school picnic that had been ruined by an actual rampaging bear berserker thing. Accidentally swallowing glass (don’t ask). The, uh, cannon. But I can safely say this one was the worst ever. Of all time. I don’t know how I was supposed to even think about showing my face in the hallways ever again.

Forget life support, my dignity was already applying for reincarnation in Elysium.

“Hey,” Cliff ventured. “You are okay, right?”

I sighed into the soft, fuzzy blanket and reluctantly pulled it back down. I looked over and met Cliff’s Labrador brown eyes. Cliff's ghost grinned at me, before his head split from his neck. I ignored it with practiced ease. Mostly practiced ease.

“How bad was it?”

He let out a soft whine and I winced. 

“It was like you were dying,” Cliff’s hands squeezed his knees as he reflexively licked his chops. His right leg started jumping before he caught himself. He was a cool kind of guy. He wasn’t the type to get worked up about anything. That he was showing this much? It meant he was rattled. “Like something was killing you and I - and I couldn’t do anything. I just - I ran for the nearest adult.”

“There’s nothing you can do, it’s - “

“All in your head, yeah, I know.” He finished miserably and raised a hand to scratch behind his floppy ear. “I gave you a bit of ambrosia for the cuts on your face. Cleaned you up a bit.”

If you’ve caught on that Cliff is not quite a standard human, you’d be right. 

My best friend is one of the Cynocephali, which means ‘dog-headed.’ He’s not a lycanthrope or anything. It’s not a curse. No transformation magic was used and no animals were harmed in the making. He was born like that, from equally dog-headed parents. Human from the shoulders down and Golden Lab neck up. Technically, he's a monster. If you cut him, he would bleed a burnished bronze dust and when he dies, he goes straight to Tartarus, the Greek hell. No immortal soul, don't pass Go. Do not collect 200 dollars. He’s people though, like you and me. Some Cynocephali are peaceful law-abiding citizens and some aren’t. Cliff’s one of the good guys. Keeps his nose clean. 

The Mist made him look like just another fifteen year old kid with blond hair and brown eyes. I mean, he’s a little under three years old, but that’s basically fifteen in dog years. He tutors me in English and Latin.

Me and reading? We don’t get along.

"You still with me?" Cliff asked.

"Yeah. Just got caught up in my head." ADHD means you never stop thinking. I sighed again. “Thanks. They called my Dad?”

“They wanted to call the ambulance, ” Cliff sneered. His dog face was good at it. It was the canine teeth. “Like human medicine can do anything. Your father talked them out of it, though. It’s, um.” He checked his celestial bronze watch. It had been his second birthday present from our family. It had his initials etched into the watch face glass and turned into an Egyptian curved sword, a khopesh. “Half past two, they excused you from the rest of your classes.”

It was the Friday before school let out for the summer next Wednesday. Class at this point was basically playing jeopardy, hangman and charades for candy. Don’t get me wrong, I would like to look my fellow students in the eye somewhen this side of never, so it was still appreciated. I missed lunch, which was annoying. I'm a growing boy. I need to eat. Good thing it was a third Friday.

“Anything else?”

“No,” Cliff said, a bit too quickly. I frowned. “Yes?” He changed his answer. He brought his hands up and softly clapped them together as if praying. “Don’t - don’t take this the wrong way. I wasn’t sure and I had to get help and then I couldn’t get too close and it was noisy and - “

“Cliff.”

He huffed. “It’s just - I thought - aren’t you Greek ?”

“Grecian born, Celt raised,” I confirmed. If you are wondering what I mean by that, it's kind of a long story. I'm half-adopted. Mom is still Mom, but - look, I'll get to it later. “Why?”

Cliff eyed me. 

“Just spill,” I said, feeling tired. 

“So,” He licked his nose. “They pulled you out of the bathroom, right? And you’re still yelling, but not just ‘aah’ yell, but talking yell. Speaking yell.” So I didn’t manage to knock myself out. That’s great. “Chanting, almost.”

Shit.

“Are you telling me,” I began slowly. “That I might have given a Prophecy in front of everyone?”

It was theoretically possible.

Practically impossible.

Mom would never allow me to hold an Oracle, no matter how much Apollo begs. Cliff actually thought I was his kid for a bit. It was the 'gets visions' thing.

“If you did, it was in no language I know of.” That ruled out Greek, Latin and Egyptian. I mean, I highly doubt it was Egyptian and I’m working on my Irish Gaelic, but it was good to be thorough. “It sounded creepy, whatever it was. I think there was a word you were repeating.” Cliff’s upright left ear folded back on his head in shame. “Not helpful, I know.”

“Don’t sweat it, man,” I told him. “That’s, like, Mom’s thing. She’ll know.”

Speaking of?

I could have done without the literal pants shitting! I thought in her general direction. Some kind of hint, clue or warning would have been real nice. 

I got a faint brush of a feeling back. An apology, before it shifted to feel more like a plea for patience. 

I breathed a harsh breath through my nose.

Fine.

I swung my legs off the bed, grimacing as my...diaper...made crunching noises with the movement. My jeans had been replaced with cheap grey sweatpants that clashed something horrible with my purple and teal button up shirt. The look practically broadcast ‘I had a whoopsie.’ 

I held out a hand and Cliff deposited my sunglasses into it. “Tell me I didn’t shit my shoes.”

“You didn’t shit your shoes,” Cliff said obediently with a hint of a doggie grin pulling at his chops.

I did shit my shoes. 

Jeeeeezuus Aaaaayyych.

I could have screamed.

Generic sneakers and socks were waiting for me under the bed. I shoved my feet into them, ignoring the pinching as I stood up. I felt a little sore all over, the kind you get after pushing your body the day before. I expected that. Visions are rough, even the small ones. My blood was still simmering underneath my skin. It was an uncomfortable shifting feeling. Cliff pulled back the curtain for me and I stiffened my spine as I walked past him to the front section of the Office. Nurse Kim was at her desk doing paperwork with silent, mechanical patience and glazed eyes. Cliff held out his hand and snapped his fingers. 

The Mist wasn’t just some kind of mass hallucination or illusion keeping the mythological world hidden. Or, it was, but those of our world could learn to manipulate the magic of it. Change a mass hallucination to a more subtle, personal illusion. It could be used as a form of hypnosis that way. There were other things you could do with it too, because the Mist wasn't layered on top of reality. It was reality. The top layer of the triple decker cake. The Young gods had it the easiest, using it essentially by instinct, outright changing reality to suit their whims. 

Cliff took a three-month course on it as part of getting his Watcher license. 

Egyptians were as bad as the Romans in a lot of ways.

As for me? I had both no talent and too much in Mist manipulation. Cliff notes (pun?): It was really hard using something you couldn’t feel or see. If Cliff wanted to, he could use an active illusion to look like a normal boy to other demigods too.

He has never managed to fool my eyes.

“Look who’s finally up, Nurse Kim!” Cliff’s hand came down heavy and supportive on my shoulder.

The woman animated as she blinked away the cobwebs. She set aside her pen as she gave me a genuinely relieved smile. She was an older, Korean woman who had just started getting gray hairs. She probably had a few more because of me today. Lord knows, the responsibilities of the average school nurse start with lice management and vaccinations, and end with calling 911.

There was no medical certification for ‘demigod bullshit.’

“Look who’s finally up!” She said warmly. “How are you feeling, Mr. Stele?”

Mortified.

“I’ve been better,” I said instead. I adopted a hangdog expression “I’m sorry for worrying everyone.”

“We’re all just glad you’re okay.” She searched through the papers on her desk and pulled out a sheet clearly designed to be filled out. The only splash of color on the white, gray and black worksheet was the logo of Trinity School. 

Parent homework.

“Your father told us the last time you had a seizure like this was about seven years ago,” she said delicately as I took the paper. “There is a possibility you’ll have another before you graduate, so we would really appreciate it if your parents took the time to fill out a Seizure Action Plan for us. It will help us make sure you get the care you need, okay?”

“Sure thing.” I folded the paper into a square and stuffed it into my sweatpants pockets. “Can I go home?”

“Of course, hun,” she said with a grimace of sympathy. She slowly reached for the phone. “Your classes were canceled for the day. Your mother can pick you and your clothes up at the Front Desk. I’ll let the secretary know to expect you.”

Fingers softly snapped.

“I’ll make sure he gets there okay,” Cliff volunteered.

The confusion in the school nurse's eyes faded. “Can you make sure he gets there okay, Mr. Randall?”

Cliff grinned, tongue lolling out. “No problem.”

As we left the Nurse’s Office, I asked under my breath, “What are you using me to skip?”

Just as quietly, Cliff hissed. “Statistics!”

I mean.

That’s fair.

Thankfully for the sake of my sanity, class was still in session. We made it to the Front Desk with minimal human contact roughly eight minutes to the bell where Cliff and I parted ways.

Personally, I thought ‘Front Desk’ was a bit of a misnomer. It looked like someone had shoved an office building into a school. The entire wall was made out of glass allowing visitors to look into a tastefully decorated waiting room. A cheerful banner that said ‘Welcome to Trinity!’ was strung up underneath the glass shelf attached to the wall. The shelf was covered in brochure holders, application papers, and chained up pens for parents writing checks for fees. The actual Front Desk was behind the greeters, a large U shaped throne for Ms. Jensen, the true ruler of the school. The Principal existed, but the only time I’ve seen the guy was at our interview two years ago for my application. A real schmoozer that needed a third hand to find his ass. Everyone knew Jensen called the shots. 

“Hey, sweetie.” Alice, the personable greeter, started as she got up from her chair. She had a blue streak in her hair that matched her blouse. That twitch might have been the other greeter Alec acknowledging my existence. Or despising it. He looked like that nice middle ground between 'Dave at Accounting' and 'Serial Killer.' Alice opened the glass door for me. “You can wait in here for your - “

“Stele,” Jensen said in an iron tone. She didn’t even look away from her computer screen, expecting the world to obey. “Charles Brunner is giving you the option of taking your Latin exam early. You can take it this afternoon and be released for the summer, or study over the weekend and be here Monday.” Steel grey eyes met mine. “Your choice.”

The way she said that made it clear she knew what I was going to choose. 

As if I would give up not having to see anyone in my home room for at least three more months.

I smiled brightly at her. “I’ll take my exam now.”

“His office.” I was dismissed. 

Five minutes to the bell.

As a late year substitute, Mr. Brunner’s office wasn’t in the ‘6th Grade teacher cluster’ of offices at the end of the East Hall. He wasn’t far from it though, because we 6th Graders still had to be able to find him and Trinity was huge. His nameplate was clearly temporary as a rectangle of paper with his name written on it instead of a brass plate.

He responded quickly to my desperate knocking. He opened the door looking alarmed with a fancy pen in hand, then confused, then relieved. “Mr. Ste- “

“Pleaseletmeinclassisgoingtoletpeopleinthehallways!”

Wordlessly, Mr. Brunner backed his wheelchair from the door so I could scoot in. The door closed behind me just as the bell rang.

Safe.

I sighed in relief, almost collapsing against the door. The centaur’s lips were twitching. I gave him a warning look and he ducked his head.

My Latin teacher looked like he could have been a famous quarter backer competing in the Super Bowl before breaking his back. It was in the scruffy beard, thinning dark hair and the fact the guy looked like he could break me over his knee, wheelchair or no wheelchair.

“I’ve already set up your workstation in the back. Let me know if you need to use any other accommodations.” He handed me his pen. As I reached for it, the world stuttered. As I stiffened, I saw another hand, smaller, feminine and darker skinned gently push the gleaming hairpin the pen had turned into towards me. As my fingers closed around it, the vision faded. The pen was a pen. A small headache pulsed between my eyes. 

Mr. Brunner didn’t question my reaction. “Good luck.” 

He rolled his celestial bronze and silver wheelchair back to his desk. Greek lettering was etched into the silver, anchoring what was no doubt a complicated feat of folded space to the outside reality. 

I want a Tardis.

Not until I’m old enough to legally drink, though. That was the rule.

“Is it multiple choice?” I asked him.

He looked up from where he had been digging another pen out of a drawer. “No.”

I grinned cheekily. “Then what does luck have to do with it?”

The centaur grumbled under his breath. I slipped into the small back room. It held nothing more than a cheap four legs and a slab desk, a chair, a cotton candy pink alarm clock, the reader, a box of Kleenex and a tiny trash can. The walls were blank of all decoration and color. A single uncovered light bulb dangled from the ceiling.  

School was prison, but this was a little too on the nose.

I sat down. The first thing I checked was how many pages the test had.

Ugh. 

I turned the pink alarm clock around, so I couldn’t see the moving hands. 

My name was pre-filled on the page in stenciled lettering, highlighted with neon yellow: ‘Perseus D. Stele.’ Yes, I have a middle name. No, I’m not telling you what it is. It’s awful. My grandparents think it's Dad's fault. It's not. Dad had still been interned in the psychiatric hospital when I was born. No, my name was Mom’s fault, 100%. I don’t know what she was thinking.

I drew a solid ink line through ‘Perseus’ and wrote a shaky ‘Percy’ above it. Then I looked at the first question. 

The letters were playing musical chairs.

I...I have dyslexia. Me and reading don’t get along. I’m okay writing, maybe a little slow. Numbers are more or less fine as long as they are printed clearly, but letters? I glanced at the clock, remembered I turned it around, turned it back forward, then went back to my test. I bit my lip. No matter how hard I stared, the letters refused to stop moving. I slowly reached for the start button on the reader, and... I felt like I had already failed.

I’m not stupid. I know I’m not. I’m not.

I don’t need a Speech-to-Text, or colored post-its and highlights. I’m fine. I can do this.

I can do this.

“Question 1. Name the members of the Dodekatheon,” Mr. Brunner’s voice said evenly from the reader. I felt the relief that I wouldn't have to read my test questions and then the shame for feeling relieved. “And their Roman counterparts.”

Right.

Easy enough.

Next to the bold 1) I wrote the Greek Name of my favorite of the Greco-Roman pantheon: Hestia. Her Roman Name followed. Vesta. 

Might as well do it in Awesome order.

I had to really think about putting Apollo next over his twin. I will admit to being a tiny bit biased there. A little. How could a sun god that crashed on our couch every weekend, was my DnD Paladin’s Disaster Bard of a son, taught me how to handle my visions and play poker just barely eke out his twin sister whom I’ve only met twice?

If your answer is A Humongous Crush, Just The Biggest Ever you are…

Goddamn right and I hate it.

I sped through the rest of the list with Minerva/Athena and then Jupiter/Zeus down in the trash where he belonged. 

Easy.

I looked at the clock. Holy - that took longer than I thought. I turned the clock back around. That was not helping. I hit the play button on the reader. 

"Question 2. According to mythology, how was Rome founded?” 

With a loud sigh, I got to writing.

“Question 3…”

I don’t know how long that test took. I knew I heard the end of the day bell, which was a relief even if it meant I was cutting it close. How close? I don’t know. I kind of took apart the pink alarm clock. I would put it back together, but I lost two screws, a spring, and a little lever thing somewhere. I marched out of the room. I calmly placed my completed test on Mr. Brunner’s desk, handed him his pen and said,

“The clock was a mistake.”

The centaur’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind. Do you want to attempt the bonus question?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. I learned early never to turn down extra credit.

“The fall of Kronos - Saturn - was part of your syllabus for the year. He overthrew his father to become king and it was prophesied that he would be overthrown by his children in turn. So he swallowed them whole as they were born, sowing the seeds for his own downfall.” Mr. Brunner steepled his hands, peering at me over them. “How does that myth relate to real life?”

“It teaches us that all prophecies are self-fulfilling,” I said without missing a beat. “It teaches us that if we let our fear control us, we create things to fear. It is our choices that decide our destiny.”

He studied me for a long moment. I don’t know what he was looking for. 

“A good answer that deserves full credit,” he finally said softly.

I smiled as I watched him write a + 10 to the top of my test. “Thank you for letting me take it early, Mr. Brunner. I appreciate it.”

“We might not have had long, but it was a pleasure teaching you, Mr. Stele.” He placed his pen in his shirt pocket and adjusted the blanket over his forelegs before scooping up a dark green backpack from beside his desk. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to head home.”

Dude. Today has been a special kind of hell.

He let me out the door first, but as he closed it he spoke up, as if he didn’t want me to just take off without him. “I take it you’re a believer in destiny?”

And with the perfect sense of dramatic timing like the wizard she is, a goddess rounded the corner with my backpack slung over one shoulder, a plastic bag of shitty clothes in the other hand and the subtle smirk of a crownless queen on her lips.

I am absolutely a Momma’s Boy.

Fight me.

“Mom!” I called out with a giant grin on my face. 

At first glance, the only thing I shared with my mother was our straight crow wing black hair. We both wore it feathered, mine parted in the middle brushing my shoulders and hers brushing the small of her back. At second glance...uh. Nope, that was it. I was olive-skinned, she was pale. She had freckles and I didn’t. Everything from our ears to our chin was different. I knew I looked a lot more like Dad’s classical Greek, save for my eyes. She had eyes of black diamond, a fractal gaze that reflected bloody death. Behind my sunglasses and beneath the Mist, my eyes were the color of an aurora borealis. I had my mother’s eyes. 

It’s just this was not the Name of my mother that gave birth to me. It was the Name of my mother that raised me. 

“Percy , ” Mom greeted me gently. She kept a soft, but noticeable Irish accent. If anyone asks, she’s from Ulster. She inclined her head towards my Latin teacher. “Mórrigan Stele, Mister…?” 

“Brunner,” the centaur said evenly. “Charles Brunner, filling in for Mr. Carlyle.”

I said I would get to it later, didn't I? The whole Grecian-born, Celt raised thing. This was my mother's Celtic Name. I was born to Ananke, a Name of the Primordial Deity of Fate, Compulsion, Necessity, Inevitability and Circumstance. A Protogenoi. It is an old and powerful Greek Name. It is not a safe Name for mortals to witness. She learned that the hard way with my father. 

Names are just that. Names. My name is Percy. If you were to shout that in a crowded room, I couldn't help paying attention. And if you were to call me 'Mr. Stele,' that means we're in a more formal setting, so I should probably act like it. God Names not only get their attention, but they also determine what 'setting' they are in. It's cross pantheon too. Sometimes the same god was called different Names by different cultures. Sometimes that was great for the god, sometimes not so much. The Romans ended up shoving Pallas Athena off the Fucking Useless tree.

And she hit every branch on the way down.

Her Name Minerva was so limiting and weak nowadays. The power of Athena didn’t go anywhere, she would just be unable to access it. Her presence and awareness would be diminished. If you cursed out ‘Minerva,’ only the part of the deity allowed by the Name would answer.  Exactly how limiting a Name was depended on a bunch of stuff. As a rule of thumb, the older the Name, the stronger it was. The older the god, the more a Name was more like an avatar, than a state of being. Young gods were called Young for a reason.

The Mórrigan was younger, weaker and this way, she could be there for me, for both of us. After all, how does that saying go? What’s in a Name?

She has older ones.

Much older.

You are reading story An Undertow of Sand at novel35.com

Knowing them was too much of a risk. 

Even for me.

My Mom shifted my backpack up higher on her shoulder, freeing her hand so she could offer it to my Latin teacher. “A pleasure.”

“You should be proud of your son,” Mr. Brunner said and I’m not entirely sure I was imagining the emphasis on ‘son.’ “He’s attentive, hard-working and really gives the material thought.”

The corner of Mom’s mouth curled up. “I am very proud of him.”

I knew she was. It was still nice to hear it. I grinned at her and pulled away from my teacher. “Have a good summer, Mr. Brunner!”

“Yes,” the centaur replied faintly. “You too.”

I made it past two classrooms before I began to feel super self-conscious about the bag of shitty clothes.

And the diapers.

“Uh, Mom,” I began awkwardly. “Can you do something about - uh, the whole situation that I am...unfortunately...dealing with here?” I know - mentally - that my Mom was the one who dealt with the poop factory that was baby me, but this was...not the same thing? That was over a decade ago and I had a thimble of pride left that was chafing as hard as the diaper was. I could see the corner of Mom’s lip slightly curl up again as she opened the side exit and held the door for me. “At like - some point?”

“In broad daylight?” She asked as if it was ridiculous, but I could hear the laugh in her voice. I heard it. “You can’t wait until we get home?”

“Mom. Mom, please.”

As I passed the door frame, the uncomfortable sweaty, lumpy diaper became nice, roomy boxer shorts. The sweatpants were now black slacks and the pinching of my feet abruptly stopped in black dress shoes.

“Oh my God, thank you.” I sighed and stretched in the sunlight. I opened my mouth.

“No, I’m not mind wiping your classmates.”

Damn.

“Yes, you are coming back next year.” Mom gently hip-checked me - plastic bag of shitty clothes conspicuously missing - on her way to the silver Mercedes parked directly in front of us in a reserved parking space. 

“I’ll convince Dad,” I threatened over the hood of the car.

The amused look she gave me was also very smug and I didn’t appreciate it.

She got in the car, preoccupied with putting my school bag in the backseat while I tried to get in the car. You would think a goddess would remember to unlock the passenger side. It takes a single extra second! 

But no.

She already had a finger up as I sat down. “Not one word.”

So I said four words instead as I buckled in. Safety First. “I didn’t say anything.”

But Mom, I thought. Really?

“I heard that,” she said as she put the car in reverse. “You know I heard that.”

“But I didn’t say anything.” I said smugly as I elbowed the door for the window.

“I don’t know why the passenger just doesn’t unlock with driver.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Percy - “ she glanced over and let out a resigned sigh. “Percy, no.”

“Percy, yes.” 

As we left the school parking lot, I stuck my head out of the window and bellowed at the top of my lungs my best impression of Mel Gibson's William Wallace. 

“Freedoooooooommmm!”

Someone’s dog howled back like it was being murdered.

Everyone’s a critic.

“You are definitely your father’s son today,” she groaned in mock disappointment.

“You know you love me.” She just hummed like she was considering it. “You know you love me,” I repeated. I held up my fist for a bump. As always, she left me hanging. I don’t know why. It boggles the mind. A fist bump would not kill her. “You are perfectly capable of just - “ My fist danced around. “Come on.”

She raised her hand, and my hopes at the same time, but, no. She grabbed at my fist, somehow uncurling my fingers so we were holding hands. She gently squeezed mine before letting go.

“What’s the Friday Plan?”

“Dairy Queen,” I said immediately. Because Royal New York Cheesecake Blizzard, obviously? Do you even need to ask - It’s pretty clear how that works. “Then Manhattan Pizza. Barnes & Noble. Water Park.”

“City?”

I scoffed. Water was my go to. The pool, the beach, the water slide, you name it. “As if you need to ask, the pool bag is already in the trunk, isn’t it?”

Her lip curled again, not bothering to deny it. The third Friday of the month was our day to hang out. Just my Mom and I. It was my day to be as much of a kid as I wanted. I wouldn’t have to do homework or chores. I choose what we have for dinner. No bedtime! 

“I’ll think of something after that.”

She made an amused ‘hn’ sound. “Do you want a hint?”

“Let me at least think of it first!” I threw myself back in my seat, throwing an arm over my eyes. A second later I asked, “What’s the hint?”

“I’ll let you think of it first.”

I knew it.

“Manhattan Pizza for dinner,” I said and heard her sigh fondly. Look, it’s not my fault they’re awesome. Everyone agreed with me. 5 star reviews. Mom was just a heretic. 

We spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, but I had to break it at the next intersection.

“Hey,” I said softly. “What happened today, was it - ?”

“Just a vision,” she said just as softly. The knot of unease I didn’t even know was there loosened. 

“Thank God.”

She cleared her throat.

I rolled my eyes. “And you, I guess.”

She was never going to forgive my paternal grandparents for being devout Greek Orthodox.

Her fingers briefly squeezed the steering wheel. A small shudder went through her before she looked at me. She had one of her unreadable expressions on. A little less humanity, a little more god. Her eyes reflected a hundred different gruesome deaths and I reflexively straightened my back. 

For Elder Gods, Names are avatars. They are always there though. The only difference is by how much.

“It was a milestone,” she said distantly. “You’re getting stronger.”

“Sweet.” I smiled, tentatively hopeful. The rest of the drive I spent telling her about my day. She already knew, but she liked listening to me. 

It kept her grounded.

The local Dairy Queen Grill and Chill was one of those stores that was a lot bigger than it looked on the outside. You had to build long, not wide to find the space which meant the store fronts looked claustrophobic, but once you were in the door, it opened up. It was pretty empty for the time of day, just one person ahead of us in line.

“Hey, G-Man!” 

The youth behind the counter shot me a bright, goofy grin. Then his brown eyes darted behind me and widened as his smile wilted. He hurriedly turned back to his customer, tugging his cap down firmly over his curly hair. Probably embarrassed. My Mom did that to pretty much everyone sixteen and over. Goddess thing. He’s new and stays at the counter since he has some kind of muscular disease in his legs that makes a lot of movement difficult. Standing all day like he was couldn’t be comfortable either, but he was a trooper. My last two appearances were with my Dad, so he hasn’t met her yet.

As soon as the young mother with two small children moved to the side to wait for their order, I stepped up to the counter. “Getting the hang of taking orders yet?”

He gave me a weak smile. “Hey, pressing buttons is harder than it looks.”

His name was Grover Underwood, G-Man for short. He was a young looking sixteen, with a wispy start of facial hair and acne. 

“Wh - what are you getting?” He swallowed nervously, eyes flickering to my mother and back. He was one of those apparently. Some people just find it difficult to think around my mother. 

“Guess.”

He bit his lip. “The cheesecake?”

“Damn straight. Large.”

My mother leaned in and Grover straightened as if he was about to snap out a salute. She let her hand tap a rapid rhythm on the counter as she made a show of looking over the menu. “Medium Oreo, if you would.”

“Yes, My Lady,” he said immediately. 

“My Lady?” I laughed as his face fell, turning red. “It’s the twenty-first century, dude.”

“I meant - ma’am.” He looked down at the computer, tapping in our orders with burning cheeks and ears. He looked like he was wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I meant ma’am. Ma’am. I just - ” He whispered a quiet, “ Styx.”

Oh he’s Greek. 

“I’m sure it just slipped out,” Mom graciously allowed. 

“Yes!” Grover latched on to the excuse. “I do - uh, over the summer, I have...drama club.” He was cringing, but kept going. “You know, re-enactments?”

“Like a Renaissance fair?” I asked.

He nodded miserably, like he was expecting me to rip into him for it. 

“G-Man. I play Dungeons and Dragons. Table top.” I smiled at him. “I don’t have room to say shit.” 

He tentatively smiled back. “Okay, that’ll be 13.47.” 

As we moved to the side, the store’s door opened to admit three old women. And I mean old, real senior citizen material. I’m talking brightly colored cardigans (because old = cold), sandals with socks, large sunglasses and granny pants. They each had sequined purses with electric blue yarn dripping out two of them and large shears out of the third. Don’t quote me on this, but I think they were siblings rather than just friends. Something about their faces. I was a little suspicious, because there was a certain group of triplets I really didn't want to see, but I wasn't going to jump at every random set either.

“Uh, welcome to Dairy Queen?” Grover’s voice warbled.

And as they walked up to the counter, they threw my Mom absolutely poisonous looks. Sometimes that happened too. Random asshats, like this one guy who refused to believe the ring on my mother’s finger meant anything. That got my hackles up. I didn’t care that I was about to make a scene, Mom would back me up. We could humiliate them.

“Wow, okay, excuse you,” I said loudly. I made a show of turning to my mother and asking, “What did you do?”

The corner of Mom’s lips curled up. “Your father.”

I stared at her in complete disbelief.

“Blah-ha-ha!” Grover bleated out a surprised laugh while the mother with two kids snorted so loudly into her bite of ice cream she started choking.

I could have died.

“Wha- oh my God , Mom! Filter! Filter!” And she started laughing. It didn’t happen often, but when it did she wasn’t afraid to laugh, which just made everything worse. “Stop! It’s not - you’re not funny!”

“Uh, a Royal New Yor - “

“Here!” I grabbed our orders from the man and escaped. 

I can’t.

As the car pulled away from the DQ, I mumbled around a spoonful of cheesecake ice cream. “You’re not funny.”

“I am funny.”

“You’re really not.”

Thankfully, the rest of the day was a lot of fun and free of any more embarrassments. Our last stop turned out to be the game store for more packs of Mythomagic cards, hoping to complete my roster. That fact that it would help refine readings was a nice bonus. We got back to the apartment building a little before dinner time. We lived in the top floor penthouse, courtesy of the grandparents. It was...a penthouse. We had a nice balcony with a pool and view of the Manhattan skyline. We had a lot of plants. I don’t know what else to say about it? It’s home.

“Pizza!” I called as I walked in through the door, carrying the two boxes of large cheesy, pepperoni goodness. I had just put them on the coffee table when my Dad emerged from his office.

“Did someone say pizza?” 

My father is Dorian Stele. He’s a lawyer, which I think is why he’s such a pain in the ass Dungeon Master. He’s Greek-American with curly brown hair, strong stubbled chin and a proud Greek schnozz. He had one of his many, many ties draped around his neck and a broad smile.

“He was your son today,” Mom announced as she tossed the car key fob onto the table by the door.

“Is that how it is?” Dad asked her as I grabbed him in a massive hug, the biggest I could manage. Dad returned it as best he could with one arm. He had a small glass of - I took a small sniff - whiskey, I think, in the other hand. I could kind of already tell from the bags under his eyes that it hadn’t been a good day. “Look at that, fifty percent of the credit, one hundred percent of the blame.”

In retaliation, Mom stole his tie.

“Am I getting that back?” Dad called after her as she went towards the kitchen. 

Mom glanced back at me for some reason, the corner of her lip curling up as she met Dad’s eyes. “Later.”

"I like the sound of that."

“Are you guys being weird?” I asked my Dad’s chest cavity. “I feel like you’re being weird.”

Dad sighed. “Pizza?”

“One large pepperoni and a half and half mushroom pepperoni and ham pineapple,” I reported like a good son.

He ruffled my hair. 

“That’s a good mini-me.” I refused to let go of him, so chuckling, he marched us both over to the couch. “Can I sit?”

“No.” I couldn’t hug the shadows out of his eyes, but I was never going to let that stop me from trying. I never looked at him without my sunglasses. I never looked at Mom without them either.

I didn't want to know.

“Huh.” He said. And then, “You know, I got the most fascinating call from your school earlier today - “

I let go of him. “I hate you.”

He laughed softly as he sunk onto the couch. I sat next to him and separated the small stack, opening them both to check which one was which. Mom came in with the paper plates, napkins and -

“Um.” I said. She placed the canvas backpack at my feet with a grimace. Dad stiffened. “Why’d you bring the Bag of Holding?”

She then made this strange pained expression. 

“Uh oh,” Dad said.

Mom had a special look for what Dad called Quantum Stupidity. It’s Stupid she could see coming, but got Stupider every time she looked. A little disturbed, I slowly grabbed a regular pepperoni and a ham and pineapple slice.

There was a knock at the door.

Mom got up to answer it.

Standing on the other side of the door were two men in classical Greek chitons, cloaks and sandals with woven belts like it was the normal thing to do in Upper Manhattan. The tall one had curly black hair, zephyr blue eyes and elfin features. He carried a sleek phone in one hand with an extended antenna that had two small snakes twinned around it. That's not a Blackberry, what kind of phone is that? It literally had a caduceus attached to it. The shorter, blond haired man had a clipboard and ball point pen.

“Hermes,” the black haired man introduced himself shortly. I blinked. Hermes, as in the God of Thieves? On my doorstep? He jerked his head towards his companion. “Milos.” He grimaced. “By the authority of Zeus Olympios, King of the Gods of Olympus, Zeus Agoraeus of the Dodekatheon and Zeus Astrapios of the Sky, we’ve come to investigate a reported cross-pantheon violation regarding the rearing of the Greek demigod, Perseus Stele.”

“What?” I said, bewildered. Hermes was literally on my doorstep.

Cross-pantheon violation?

That’s a thing?

“We would appreciate your cooperation. It will help us resolve this in a just and timely manner,” Milos said like he was reading off an index card. “Please state your name for the record.”

“The Mórrigan,” Mom replied easily.

Hermes’ eyebrows rose.

“Uh. What... is that?” Milos asked as he flipped pages on his clipboard. “That’s - that’s Norse, right?”

“Celtic.” Her voice was frozen.

“You guys are still around? ” Milos blurted out. He grunted as Hermes sharply elbowed him.

“I apologize for him. Sensitivity training isn’t what it used to be.”

“What the actual fuck?” Dad whispered. He was staring at his drink as if it had betrayed him.

“I am afraid the rules and regulations of Olympus are clear and absolute in this matter,” Hermes said. “As a Greek demigod, we are required by law to remove the boy from foreign influence until such a time that he is claimed by his godly parent.”

Milos was speed writing something on the clipboard, finishing with a flourish and a proud smile as he presented my mother with a yellow slip of paper. 

“You have been summoned to appear before the Dodekatheon.” Milos said proudly. “As a member of a Class Four pantheon, you have seven days to respond. Failure to do so will result in penalties.”

Mom took the slip. “I understand.”

I did not!

Hermes nodded. “Thank you for your understanding. Come along, kid.”

“Wait,” I grunted, beyond confused. “What?” I slowly stood up, reflexively grabbing my canvas backpack and keeping a firm hand on my paper plate. “What is - Mom?”

“Go with them, Perseus,” she said softly. She turned her back to the door and slowly, one corner of her lips curled upwards. Her black eyes glittered with vicious amusement. “I am certain your Greek parent will not wait long to claim you.”

Hermes made a sympathetic noise, but said nothing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slowly walked to the front door. I swung my bag up onto my shoulder. My mother pressed a kiss into my hair when I reached her. I got a brush of a feeling.

Patience.

Honestly, that was what kept me from absolutely losing my shit by a thread.

What even -

“Okay, so.” I glanced at the two Olympus stooges as the door closed, leaving me alone in the small hallway to the elevator with them. I’ve been in this hallway over a hundred times, but all of the sudden it was too small. I felt like the walls were closing in. I opened my mouth as if just speaking would push back against the black feeling in my stomach. “I guess I’m being confiscated now?”

Hermes dragged a hand down his face. 

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Yeah. Let’s call it that. It sucks, but the law’s the law.”

“No appeals, huh?” I muttered. 

Hermes snorted. “Appealing the Fates...good luck with that. ”

It is not all bad, young one, one of the snakes on his phone said. Because god, apparently? Whatever. Talking snakes. Not the first talking critter I’ve seen. You belong with your own.

“Camp Half-Blood?” I asked, just to make sure I wasn’t going to be stuffed into a cell. It was a summer camp for the Greek pantheon and all of their half-bloods. I don't think they'd keep me up on Olympus, so it was the only other place I could think of.

“You know it, that makes things easier.” Hermes turned to Milos. “You know the drill, file the paperwork. In triplicate.”

“But - “

“You’re still around?” Hermes mocked him as the blond flushed. 

“Got it, Boss.” Milos disappeared in a breeze of wind.

“Idiot.” Hermes turned back to me. “You might want to close your eyes. I’m told the first time is the hardest.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. The lurch was not great. The sudden noise of dozens of people talking was almost worse. I opened my eyes and found myself standing in an old style Greek pavilion on a hill overlooking the sea. A large brazier burned in the center and there were nymphs and satyrs moving between the long tables. There were kids everywhere, staring at me over their plates of barbeque. The noise slowly dropped as more and more people realized I was there.

I was still holding my pizza.

“Nice entrance,” A chubby black haired man with a red nose and a tiger print shirt grunted from one of the tables. “Who the hell are you?”

“Uh, Perseus Stele.” I said. “Hermes...sent me.” 

Hermes literally just dumped me here.

The man rolled bloodshot blue eyes and pointed to a table already full. Some of them were even sitting on the ground. A few looked like they could be related, something about their noses and mouths. Some shared eye color, but a lot of them didn’t look anything like each other at all. What they did share was this expression. The whole table as one looked resigned.

“Cabin 11.”

“That’s nice?” I said slowly. “But - “

A thousand tiny, sparkling stars appeared around me and trailed upwards to a point above my head. I watched as they formed a gleaming holographic image: A blood red spindle of golden thread.

A blond haired, gray eyed girl from a table filled with other blond gray eyed kids spoke up in the sudden hush.

“Who...is that?”

“Well,” the hungover man said. 

He took a long pull from his Diet Coke. 

“Fuck.” 

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