𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 • 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

Ride

Y/n Pov:

The war god was waiting for us in the diner car park. 

"Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed." 

"You knew it was a trap," Percy said. 

Ares gave me a wicked grin. 

"Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV." 

Percy shoved his shield at him. 

"You're a jerk." 

Annabeth and Grover caught their breath. Ares 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?" 

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. 

"Freeride 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 me. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty dollars in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuff Oreos. 

I said, "I don't want your lousy—" 

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, glaring at me. "Thanks a lot." 

I gritted my teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I didn't want anything that Ares had touched. 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 in the nose.

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 of Ares. She dragged the fry cookout from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us. 

Great, we'll make the papers again tomorrow. Imagine the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAW BEATS UP DEFENCELESS BIKER. 

"You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares."You promised me information about my mother." 

"You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle."She's not dead." 

The ground seemed to spin beneath us. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept." 

"Kept. Why?" 

"You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else." 

"Nobody's controlling me." 

Ares laughed. 

"Oh yeah? See you around, kid." 

I balled up my fists. 

"You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues," I told him.