forest green ● jason grace

nineteen

Daria was furious at her mother.

Gaea was plain and simply fucking with them. She had complete control over Daria's mind and Daria knew that, even when she was done with her training, she wouldn't relinquish it. The earth goddess had captured Nico and had left Hazel and Percy to drown... Daria expected an apology.

She had to figure out an endgame for this. Not for this quest specifically, but for the Prophecy of Eight. It was foretold that she would betray her friends, that she would play the main role in their demise. But was that really what Daria was doing every night?

Hazel led them along Third Avenue. They thought about stopping at the Seward Hotel, but Daria didn't think it would be a good idea to traipse into the lobby covered in mud, nor was she sure the hotel would give a room to four minors.

Instead, they turned toward the shoreline. A rickety old house stood on a barnacle-encrusted pier. The roof sagged. The walls were perforated with holes like buckshot. The door was boarded-up, and a hand-painted sign read: ROOMS STORAGE AVAILABLE.

"Come on," Hazel said.

"Uh, you sure it's safe?" Frank asked.

Not giving him a response, Hazel found an open window and climbed inside. The three of them followed. The room hadn't been used in a long time. Their feet kicked up dust that swirled in the buckshot beams of sunlight. Mouldering cardboard boxes were stacked along the walls. Their faded labels read: Greeting Cards, Assorted Seasonal.

"It's warmer in here, at least," Frank said. "Guess no running water? Maybe Daria and I can go shopping. We're not as muddy as you guys. We could find us some clothes."

Hazel didn't seem to hear him.

She climbed over a stack of boxes in the corner that used to be her sleeping area. An old sign was propped against the wall: GOLD PROSPECTING SUPPLIES.

Frank's fingers hovered over a photo. "Who...?" He saw that she was crying and clamped back his question. "Sorry, Hazel. This must be really hard. Do you want some time — "

"No," she croaked. "No, it's fine."

"Is that your mother?" Percy pointed to the photo of dark-haired woman. "She looks like you. She's beautiful."

Then Percy studied the picture of a curly-haired troublemaker. "Who is that?"

Daria didn't understand why he looked so spooked

"That's... that's Sammy. He was my — uh — friend from New Orleans." Hazel managed.

"I've seen him before," Percy said.

"You couldn't have," Hazel said. "That was in 1941 . He's... he's probably dead now."

Percy frowned. "I guess. Still..." He shook his head, like the thought was too uncomfortable.

Daria cleared her throat. "Look, we passed a store on the last block. We've got a little money left. Maybe we should go get you guys some food and clothes and — I don't know — a hundred boxes of wet wipes or something?"

"That would be great," she said. "You two are the best."

The floorboards creaked under Frank's feet. "Well... We're the only ones not completely covered in mud, anyway. Be back soon."

Daria couldn't help but notice that she had spent significantly more time with Frank than Hazel on this quest and yet she knew the least about him. She didn't think the son of Mars liked her very much. That, or he was afraid of her. Neither option made her feel better really.

"You know I meant what I said back at breakfast," she ventured. "There's something about you Frank, you were born to lead."

He glanced at her, "Yeah maybe."