❝ 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...
─── i disagree with earlier thoughts; don't become a matador
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𝔇espite popular opinion, I do love animals. I love all animals. Apart from one, singular thing;
Bulls.
Now, there's many reasons for this, including the fact that one almost killed my mother and me last year. So, you see, when I saw two, bronze bulls, the size of elephants on Half-Blood Hill that could breathe fire, my first thought was murder.
Again, I think that's perfectly justifiable.
The Grey Sisters peeled away from us as soon as Tyson exited the cab, not even waiting for their extra three drachma payment, and instead leaving us on the side of the road (which could possibly be considered child endangerment). Annabeth and I had nothing but our backpacks, Tyson was still in burnt tie-dyed gym clothes and Luke, as per, looked done with life.
"Oh..." Annabeth caught Luke's eyes, closing her mouth quickly before she cussed in front of her big brother.
Now, I wasn't too worried about the bulls (despite the fact they were breathing fire). I was more worried about the fact that they were inside Camo Half-Blood, past Thalia's pine tree. The camp had magical borders, designed to keep monsters out, yet these were going over the barrier line as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
I hung back, turning to Luke.
"This is what went wrong." He didn't say anything, his face falling dark for a moment, eyes narrowing into a glare. I placed a brief hand onto his arm, squeezing.
One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" Border patrol? I thought. The camp didn't have a border patrol.
"It's Clarisse," Annabeth said, the thirteen year old's dark eyes wide in confusion. "Come on, we have to help her."
Clarisse's fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One hero screamed and waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horse-hair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk. Clarisse's own armour was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other end embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.
I uncapped Riptide, flipping it around in my hand as I got used to the familiar weight of it. Behind me, I heard the tell tale sound of something being unsheathed, and turned to see Luke pulling his own sword, Backbiter, from seemingly nowhere. I shivered at the sight of the sword.
