❝ Does being a Child of Hermes automatically make you good at flirting? Or was that just a skill you picked up? ❞
Andromeda Jackson knew she was not cut out for the demigod life, and that was before she heard about her death from the creepy oracle i...
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ℑ was not in the mood for any of this.
Ares was waiting for us in the diner parking lot, leaning against his bike, as I took a deep breath and handed the remainder of my weapons to Luke (who was the decidedly more mature). If something did happen, he'd hopefully stop me launching myself onto the god.
"Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."
"You knew it was a trap." I stated.
Ares smirked. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV, I'll admit."
I almost threw the shield frisbee style at his head, but instead shoved it to him. "You're a jerk."
Annabeth and Grover caught their breath, and Luke rubbed his forehead. Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest and he slung it across his back.
"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."
The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.
I said, "You're kidding."
Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, girl. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."
He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to me. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuffed Oreos.
"Thank you, Lord Ares." Luke replied, before I could swear at the god in every language I knew (which came to a grand total of two and one German swear word).
Reluctantly, I slung the backpack over my shoulder. I knew my anger was being caused by the war god's presence, but I was still itching to punch him.
I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us.
