Return of the Disgraced Archangel

Contract Killings

     Percy sighed. He was not looking forward to the meeting that was about to happen. He stood in the shore of Delos's southern side. The Argo II bobbed in the water behind him. The rest of the Seven was on board, no doubt watching him.

     He had insisted on meeting with Apollo and Artemis alone, since he was, one, the least likely to get blasted, and two, they knew him well enough. But despite this, he had to see Artemis. She had to know what happened to Zoë, and she had to hear it from him. And he couldn't let any of the demigods be within two hundred feet of Artemis when she blew up.

      That didn't make him any less nervous to tell her though. He took a deep breath and stepped onto the sand of the island.

     The island was deserted. The seas were too choppy for the small tourist boats to make the journey. The windswept hills were barren except for rocks, grass, wildflowers, and of course, crumbling ruins. There had been a lot of those on this quest.

     He walked down a beaten path lined with what had once been stone lines, their features lost to time, now just a blob of white concrete in the rough shape of one.

     He reached the top of a hill. Below him, an amphitheater had been carved into the hillside. Shrubs grew in the cracks of the worn seats, making it look like a concert for a bunch of plants. He idly wondered what kind of music nymphs liked. Did the stone spirits like rock? Down at the bottom, sat Apollo, hunched over, plucking a sad tune on the ukulele. He was aged to seventeen, with curly blond hair, and a perfect tan. He wore tattered jeans, a black T-shirt, and a white linen jacket with glittering rhinestone lapels.

     In the front row, a girl of the same age sat, whittling a piece of wood with a hunting knife. She had auburn hair in a single braid that fell over her shoulder. She wore black leggings and a silver tunic.

     He hopped down and walked down the stairs towards the stage. His footsteps echoed in the bowl shaped amphitheater, ringing off the granite. Apollo stopped strumming his ukulele and looked up at him. He watched Percy approach. "Hi, Percy," he said with a hint of depression in his voice.

     Artemis looked up from her bow. "Hi, Percy." She repeated, a little happier than Apollo's had been. "How's Zoë? Where is she?"

     Shit. He hadn't expected her to ask so soon, which, in immediate hindsight, seemed stupid. Of course she would want to know, she was her best friend for a couple of millenia. Percy's mouth felt uncharacteristically dry. Usually he had the words locked and loaded. Words were his weapons for when he didn't want to use weapons. So many legends about his words, how he manipulates people with his silver tongue. And yet, now he found his tongue to be little more than a barren desert. He could feel the tumbleweeds blowing across it. He looked down, which was the wrong move, because now Artemis had put down her bow and was looking at him intensely.

     He let out a breath. "She's... well... indisposed." He said.

     "What's wrong?" She tilted her head, like a wolf does when listening for the sound of prey to hunt.

     'Oh, nothing, just reforming in the pits of Hell, that's all.' Percy thought. He decided on "She's taken a leave of absence."

     "Percy, just tell me what happened to her. Stop beating around the bush."

     "She died! She's reforming." He said, instantly looking away.

     A deep breath was the only sound Artemis made. When Percy looked back he saw Artemis silently sobbing. And that made him take a step back. He had expected rage, pure and unbridled. He had prepared for an explosion, an arrow aimed at his head, a knife in his chest, something, but not this.