The Labyrinth // pjo

Chapter Seven // THIS GIRL IS ON FIRREEEEEEE

 "Holy shit..." I breathed.

We made it to Hephestasus's workshop–after briefly losing the spider–and I'm not gonna lie–I was impressed.

I spent a lot of time with the god's son–Charles Beckendorf–and I had spent a lot of time in the Hephaestus kids' forge, but this was next level.

We were surrounded by all kinds of bronze figurines, prototypes, and whatever the hell the god of forges decided to make.

I was staring at some kind of dragon head prototype when a voice came from underneath a '98 Toyota Corolla, "Well, well...What have we here?"

I turned to come face to face with the marred face of Hephaestus.

"What's up, Captain Fire-Face?"

I didn't register that I had said it until I felt my brother and friends staring at me in horror.

Hephaestus just kinda stared at me–not really exposing his emotions as he wiped his grimey and oily hands on his jumpsuit. I stood in my spot as he walked over to me–his metal brace creaking as he did so, and one of his shoulders dipped lower than the other.

As he stood over me, I knew I might have screwed up before he said in his booming voice, "Not the worst I've been called."

The spider thingy climbed up his leg and into his mishappened palm–to which he continued to disassemble and reassemble it in record time, "There. Much better."

I watched as the spider did a little flip before shooting a metallic web toward the ceiling and swinging away.

"Peter Parker would be so jealous..." I muttered to no one.

Annabeth looked ready to strangle me as Hephaestus looked at the rest of our group, glowering, "I know I didn't make her–but I didn't make you, did I?"

I rolled my eyes at his slight jab at my existence as Annabeth stammered, tearing her burning eyes from me, "Uh, no sir."

"Good. Shoddy workmanship." His eyes took in Percy, Annabeth, and I. "Half-bloods...Could be automatons, of course, but probably not."

"We've met, sir," Percy told him patiently.

"Have we?" The god shot back–obviously not really paying attention. "Well then, if I didn't smash you to a pulp the first time we met, I suppose I won't have to do it now." He then turned his eyes to Grover, frowning. "Satyr." Then he looked to Tyson–his eyes twinkled, "Well, a Cyclops. Good, good. What are you doing traveling with this lot?"

"Uh..." Tyson stared at the god like a kid at Christmas.

"Yes, well said," Hephaestus nodded firmly. "So, there'd better be a good reason you're disturbing me. The suspension on this Corolla is no small matter, you know."

"Sir," Annabeth spoke again nervously, "we're looking for Daedalus. We thought—"

"Daedalus?" The god bellowed, making me flinch and duck my head slightly. Percy looked at me from the corner of his eyes worriedly as the god continued to freak out. "You want that old scoundrel? You dare to seek him out!"

"Uh, yes, sir, please," Annabeth seemed generally unphased even as the god's beard erupted in flames.

"Humph. You're wasting your time." The enormous deity frowned at something at his worktable, moving to grab it.

I watched as he messed with a few metal plates and some springs, and within seconds–a silver and bronze falcon was sitting in his hands.

My jaw dropped as its wings extended, and it flew around the room–moving to Tyson, who was laughing and nipping his ear affectionately.