JAWBREAKER

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤

Warren, Percy, and Tyson snuck through side streets and back alleys. They tried their best to avoid police cars and news reporters, but it's not easy being stealthy with a six foot three Cyclops. Finally, Warren stopped them at the intersection of Thomas and Trimble.

"Here," she said, sliding the JanSport off her shoulder and rummaging around inside. "I think I have a couple left..."

"What are you looking for?" Percy asked. All around them sirens wailed.

"Cab fare."

She dug through her bag and pulled out a hair brush, a pair of socks, a comic book, until finally she raised a golden drachma in her fist. "Ah-ha! Found it!"

Percy looked at her like she'd taken one too many hits to the head. "Warren, you know New York taxi drivers won't take that."

"Shut up and stand back, Jackson," she rolled her eyes. Then she called out in Ancient Greek, "Stêthi! Ô hárma diabolês!"

Warren threw her coin into the street. Instead of clattering against the asphalt, the drachma sank straight through the ground and disappeared. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, just where the coin had fallen, the pavement darkened. Red, blood like liquid bubbled up in a pool the size and shape of a parking space.

Then a car erupted from the ooze. It was a taxi, but unlike every other taxi in New York, it wasn't yellow. It was smoky gray— as in it looked like it was made out of actual smoke.

The passenger window rolled down, and an old woman stuck her head out. She had a mop of grizzled hair covering her eyes and she spoke in a weird mumbling way, like she'd just had a shot of Novocain.

"Passage? Passage?"

"Three to Camp Half-Blood," Warren said. She opened the cab's back door and waved at Percy to get in, but he made no move to enter the vehicle. He was eyeing the billowing, hazy car like it would collapse at one touch.

"For gods sake," she grumbled and yanked his wrist, forcing him into the back seat. Tyson approached the door, but the old woman screeched.

"Ach! We don't take his kind!" She pointed a bony finger at Tyson.

"I'll pay you extra," Warren offered. "Three more drachma on arrival."

"Done!" the woman screamed.

Tyson squeezed in the middle, squashing Percy against the door, and Warren climbed in last.

The interior was also smoky gray, but it felt completely solid. The seats were cracked and lumpy— no different than most taxis, but there was no partition separating them from the old lady driving. Except it wasn't just one old lady. There were three, all crammed into the front seat. Each one had stringy hair covering their eyes, bony hands, and a charcoal-colored sackcloth dress.

The one driving said, "Long Island! Out-of-metro fare bonus! Ha!"

She floored the accelerator, and Warren's head slammed against the backrest. A prerecorded voice came on over the speaker: Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up!