DON'T BLAME ME! (p. jackson) (#2) (ON HOLD)

- thirteen

ROSE DREAMED OF HER FRIENDS.

in the dream, she found herself on the roof of a tall building, the nighttime skyline of manhattan spread around her. a cold wind whipped through her clothes.

a few blocks away, clouds gathered above the empire state building—the entrance to mount olympus itself. lightning flashed. the air was metallic with the smell of oncoming rain. the top of the skyscraper was lit up as usual, but the lights seemed to be malfunctioning. they flickered from purple to orange as if the colors were fighting for dominance.

on the roof of the building stood old several romans: an array of demigods in combat armor, their imperial gold weapons and shields glinting in the dark. she saw dakota and nathan, leila and marcus. she recognized them from the feast at camp jupiter. octavian stood to one side, thin and pale, his eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness or anger, a string of sacrificial stuffed animals around his waist. his augur's white robe was draped over a purple shirt and cargo pants.

in the center of the line stood reyna, her metal dogs aurum and argentum at her side. she looked tired. her hair was wet, like she'd taken a hasty shower.

the romans stared at the roof-access door as if they were waiting for someone.

when the door opened, two people emerged. the first person who stepped out wasn't even a person— it was a satyr.

he wore a green nature conservancy shirt with pictures of endangered whales and tigers and such. nothing covered his shaggy legs and hooves. he had a bushy goatee, curly brown hair tucked into a rasta-style cap, and a set of reed pipes around his neck. his hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, he studied the romans, noting their positions and their weapons.

rose smiled. how she'd missed grover.

at his side was a redheaded girl— rachel elizabeth dare. she had long frizzy hair, an nyu hoodie, and shorts covered with hand-drawn ink designs. she held a blue plastic hairbrush that she tapped nervously against her thigh like a good luck talisman. rose nearly laughed. that same hairbrush had hit kronos in the eye a few years ago.

she stepped forward, her eyes fixed on reyna. "you got my message."

octavian snorted. "that's the only reason you made it this far alive, graecus. i hope you've come to discuss surrender terms."

"octavian..." reyna warned.

"at least search them!" octavian protested.

"no need," reyna said, studying rachel. "do you bring weapons?"

rachel shrugged. "i hit kronos in the eye with this hairbrush once. otherwise, no."

the romans didn't seem to know what to make of that.

"and your friend?" reyna nodded grover. "i thought you were coming alone."

"this is grover underwood," rachel said. "he's a leader of the council."

"what council?" octavian demanded.

"cloven elders, man." grover's voice was high and reedy, as if he were terrified, but he had more steel than he let on. "seriously, don't you romans have nature and trees and stuff? i've got some news you need to hear. plus, i'm a card-carrying protector. i'm here to, you know, protect rachel."

reyna looked like she was trying not to smile. "but no weapons?"

"just the pipes." grover's expression became wistful. "percy always said my cover of 'born to be wild' should count as a dangerous weapon, but i don't think it's that bad."

(it was that bad. it once made rose cry.)

octavian sneered. "another friend of percy jackson. that's all i need to hear."