Thunderstorm ➪ʜᴀᴢᴇʟ Lᴇᴠᴇsǫᴜᴇ [𝟷]

𝗩 𝗜

𝙇𝙚𝙤 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚. 𝘽𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 Piper deemed it fit to nudge him awake, Bronte had already ingested several hundred milligrams of caffeine in the form of those little pills the camp store always kept stocked. Piper and Jason had watched her crunch on the powdery pills nervously, and Piper had eventually confiscated her pill bottle. Whatever. She'd get it back eventually. It's not like she'd be sleeping anytime soon.

Leo blinked away at Piper's nudging, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"We're here," Piper said.

Leo took in the city below them, still groggy from sleep.

The city sat on a cliff overlooking a river. The ground around it was dusted with snow, but the city itself flowed with warmth. Buildings crowded together inside high walls like a medieval town, way older than any place than Bronte had seen before. In the center was a castle-looking building which seemed somewhat out of place.

"Tell me that's Quebec and not Santa's workshop," Leo said.

"Yeah, Quebec City," Piper confirmed. "One of the oldest cities in North America. Founded around sixteen hundred or so?"

"And it haven't been destroyed yet?" Bronte whistled. "Impressive."

"Yeah," Piper nodded. "It—"

"Five minutes."

"What?"

"Maybe ten," Bronte hummed. "You know, because of the size."

"What?" Jason asked.

"Just a rough estimate for how long it'd take me," Bronte replied. "To destroy it, I mean."

"No way," Leo laughed.

"Way. It'd be easy."

"Heads up, guys," Jason said, sounding very, very tired. "We've got company."

Bronte looked below and saw what Jason meant. Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures—angry angels with nasty-looking swords.

Festus didn't like the angel guys. He swooped to a halt in midair, wings beating and talons bared, and made a rumbling sound in his throat that was definitely not a good sign.

"Steady boy," Leo murmured. 

Bronte wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She turned to face Jason, who's hand was in his pocket. "Let's fight them. Can we fight them?"

"They look like storm spirits," Jason said. "I don't like this."

"I don't hear a no!" She turned back around to glare at them some more and saw that Jason . . . wasn't entirely correct.

The two things flying toward Festus were much more solid that venti. They looked like regular teenagers except for their icy white hair and feathery purple wings. Their bronze swords were jagged, like icicles, and looked very sharp. Their faces looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but they definitely weren't twins.

She didn't remember venti having such bad fashion, either.

One non-venti was the size of an ox, with a bright red hockey jersey, baggy sweatpants, and black leather cleats. The guy had been in a couple fights recently, because both his eyes were black and when he bared his teeth, several of them were missing. That bit might actually be the hockey, though.

The other guy looked . . . even worse, if that was possible. His ice-white hair was long and feathered into a mullet, which Bronte definitely had opinions about. (Her main opinion on mullets was this: they only look good on people who aren't men.) He wore pointy-toes leather shoes, designer pants that were way to tight, and a gods-awful silk shirt with the top three buttons open. It gave Bronte way too much of a view into his chest hair (or lack thereof? Did he shave it?) Maybe he thought he looked like a groovy love god, from the 80s rock scene, but the guy couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he had a bad case of acne.