JAWBREAKER

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚

Warren had been to the Big House attic a handful of times, but she'd never gotten used to it. A ladder led up from the top of the staircase. Chiron clip-clopped over to the base and gestured upward.

"You know where it is," he told Warren. "Bring it down, please."

She nodded. "Come on, Percy."

The sun was setting outside, so the attic was even darker and creepier than usual. Old hero trophies were stacked everywhere- dented shields, pickled heads in jars from various monsters, a pair of fuzzy dice on a bronze plaque that read: STOLEN FROM CHRYSAOR'S HONDA CIVIC, BY GUS, SON OF HERMES, 1988.

Percy picked up a curved bronze sword so badly bent it looked like the letter M. He could still see green stains on the metal from the magical poison that used to cover it. The tag was dated last summer. It read: Scimitar of Kampê, destroyed in the Battle of the Labyrinth.

"You remember Briares throwing those boulders?" he asked.

Warren gave him a small smile. "And Grover causing a Panic? How could I forget."

They locked eyes. A look passed between them; Percy's eyes flickered ever so briefly down to Warren's lips. And suddenly Grover's Panic was the last thing on their minds. Instead, all thoughts were on their reunion, and how it had been interrupted. They were so seldom alone these days- partly because of war prep (and mostly because of Warren.) But try as she might to distance herself, there was no denying that she burned for Percy.

Suddenly the air between them was thick- charged and magnetic. Percy took a slow step toward Warren, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her hip. She raised her hands to his chest, intent on putting space between them...but instead took a step closer. Percy's breath staggered slightly as she traced her thumb under the cut of his jaw. They were mere inches apart when Warren got ahold of herself, cleared her throat and gently pushed him back.

"Prophecy," she said.

"Right." He breathed out heavily. "Prophecy."

They walked over to the window. On a three-legged stool sat the Oracle- a shriveled female mummy in a tie-dyed dress. Tufts of black hair clung to her skull. Glassy eyes stared out of her leathery face. Just looking at her made Warren's skin crawl.

"I never understood this," Percy said.

"What?" Warren asked.

"Why it's a mummy."

"Perce, she didn't used to be a mummy. For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle lived inside a beautiful woman. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. Chiron told me she was like that fifty years ago." Warren pointed at the mummy. "But she was the last."

"What happened?"

Warren started to say something, then bit her tongue. "Let's just do our job and get out of here."