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ELEVEN, zebras are good conversation starters
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PERCY WAS FUMING THE whole way back to the diner, but none of his companions said a word. Aster was worried that if she spoke, his head might blow off (which could be an agreeable situation under the right circumstances).
Ares was waiting for them in the diner parking lot, leaning against his motorcycle like a total douche. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."
"You knew it was a trap," Percy said.
Ares grinned wickedly. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."
Percy shoved the shield at the war god. "You're a jerk."
Aster inhaled sharply. She was shocked that he would dare to say that to a god. Especially this god—the literal god of war.
Aster shouldn't have even been surprised at this point.
Ares seemed to ignore Percy's comment, and Aster was glad she wasn't going to be turned into a boar. He grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.
"See that truck over there?" Ares 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."
Aster was surprised to see that she could actually read the sign fastened to the truck because of the reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.
Percy was dumbfounded. "You're kidding."
Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. 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 Percy, who looked completely disgusted to even be touching it. "I don't want your lousy—"
"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving Percy a kind death stare. "Thanks a lot."
Percy's jaw clenched. He clearly had built up resentment against the god, either because of Ares's presence causing aggression or the god's sparkling personality. There was an equal chance of both, Aster decided.
Aster turned to the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served them dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt them. 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 the group.
That was just the cherry on top. Imagine the headlines: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAW AND HIS ACCOMPLICES OF MISSING CHILDREN BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER. Yeah, Aster would definitely pay for that newspaper.
