BABY DON'T CUT - jason grace

Chapter Eight

Daylight was fading when they arrived. Piper shook Leo awake and he groggily opened his eyes to take a look at his surroundings. Below them, a city sat on a cliff overlooking a river. The plains around it were dusted with snow, but the city itself glowed warmly in the winter sunset. Buildings crowded together inside high walls like a medieval town.

     "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?"

     Leo raised an eyebrow. "Your dad do a movie about that too?"

     She made a face at him, which Estella and Leo were both used to, but it didn't quite work with her new glamorous makeup. "I read sometimes, okay? Just because Aphrodite claimed me, doesn't mean I have to be an airhead."

     "Feisty!" Leo said. "So you know so much, what's that castle?"

     A hotel, I think."

     Leo laughed. "No way."

     But as they got closer, Estella saw that she was right. The grand entrance was bustling with doormen, valets, and porters taking bags. Sleek black luxury cars idled in the drive. People in elegant suits and winter cloaks hurried to get out of the cold.

     "The North Wind is staying in a hotel?" Leo said. "That can't be—"

     "Heads up, guys," Jason interrupted. "We got company!"

     Estella 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. Estella definitely didn't like the sound of that.

     "Steady, boy," Leo muttered to the dragon.

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

     At first Estella thought he was right, but as the angels got closer, she could see they were much more solid than venti. They looked like regular teenagers except for their icy white hair and feathery purple wings. Their bronze swords were jagged, like icicles. Their faces looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but they definitely weren't twins.

     One was the size of an ox, with a bright red hockey jersey, baggy sweatpants, and black leather cleats. The guy clearly had been in too many fights, because both his eyes were black, and when he bared his teeth, several of them were missing.

     The other guy looked like he'd just stepped off one of an 1980s rock album covers—Journey, maybe, or Hall & Oates, or something even lamer. His ice-white hair was long and feathered into a mullet. He wore pointy-toed leather shoes, designer pants that were way too tight, and a god-awful silk shirt with the top three buttons open. Maybe he thought he looked like a groovy love god, but the guy couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he had a bad case of acne.

     The angels pulled up in front of the dragon and hovered there, swords at the ready.

     The hockey ox grunted. "No clearance."

     "'Scuse me?" Leo said.

     "You have no flight plan on file," explained the groovy love god. On top of his other problems, he had a French accent so bad Estella was sure it was fake. "This is restricted airspace."

     "Destroy them?" The ox showed off his gap-toothed grin.

     The dragon began to hiss steam, ready to defend them. Jason summoned his golden sword, but Leo cried, "Hold on! Let's have some manners here, boys. Can I at least find out who has the honor of destroying me?"