𐌙/𐌍 Ᏽ𐌵𐌀𐌋𐌄 & 𐌕𐋅𐌄 Ᏽ𐌐𐌄𐌀𐌕 𐌌𐌙𐌕𐋅𐌔 ¹

Chapter 15

15 | King Of Vegas's Animals

The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot.

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

"Wish I did. Wouldn't need to see your ugly face again."

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

Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled black-smith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."

I shoved his shield at the ground and kicked it into his direction. "Piss off, jerk."

Annabeth and Grover sucked in a pair of dry gasps.

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 INTER-NATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

"You're kidding me, right," I turned back at Ares. "I'm not an animal."

Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride 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 bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.

"I don't want any of your sh–"

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving me his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."

With a scoff, I threw the bag over my shoulder and avoided staring straight into Ares's eyes. I knew they would only make me want to rip his gut inside out even more. He reminded me of every idiot who ever annoyed me in my life: Harriet Slater, Clarisse, Apollo's children, Hive's director–every single kid that laughed whenever I got a warning I wasn't going to be adopted.

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 Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out 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, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAW BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER.

"You owe me one more thing," I told Ares, trying to keep my voice level. "You promised me a favor. From Zeus."

"And what is that, punk?" Ares questioned.

I considered my options. I didn't exactly need anything from Zeus, and I had no idea of what would be useful for me. So I just said what first came to mind.

"Percy's mom." I looked back at Ares's red glasses. "Is she really dead? Or at least tell me something that's useful."

Ares kick-started his bike. "Well, she's not dead."

"What do you mean?" Percy asked, his voice was a lighter color than usual. He was scared. But still surprised, and quite happy.

"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."