chapter five

─── it's not a normal day unless I'm questioning my life's existence

          𝔖ometimes, you just have to wake up, realise that you made a lot of poor life choices and then get on with your life and do something about it. Other times, you wake up, realise your life is shit and go back to sleep because dreams are better than reality. Normally, I'm in the second category, however, when an incredibly good looking man was sitting next to you, feeding you medicine, I had to consider option one.

I blearily opened my eyes once more, staring at the guy who was hovering above me. His lips quirked up into a half smile, crinkling a large scar that ran down his left cheek. The bright sun made his blond hair look like a halo.

He looked like something otherworldly. An angel.

"Thanks." I went bright red.

Abort mission. Option 2! Option 2!

"Here. Drink this. You'll feel better?" His hand touched the back of my neck, helping me sit half upright, tilting my head forward so that he could place a glass to my lips.

I pursed my lips, trying to form words, but I could not.

"It's not poison. Don't worry." He muttered, before tilting the cup so that I could swallow some of the drink.

It tasted like buttered popcorn, movie nights and home all at once, and a warm feeling swept through me as I sighed. The pain in the back of my head went away as I pushed myself up further on shaky arms.

"Alright, alright, Sleeping Beauty. Take it easy." He grabbed onto my shoulders, pushing me back to the bed. "You need your sleep."

I watched him stand, wanting to call after him not to go and to stay by my side, because I was scared what my dreams would bring, but he walked out of the room and I fell asleep to dreams of weird animals trying to kill me.

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When I next opened my eyes, it wasn't to see a good looking man hovering next to me, but instead a large meadow. It would have been good, if I didn't feel like shit; my tongue felt ugh, I could practically taste my breath and all of my teeth ached like I'd just had my braces reapplied.

There was a glass next to me, which I took a moment to think about whether it was a good idea or not to drink it, before shrugging. Probably not as bad as the time I accidentally drank vodka because Gabe poured it into my water bottle. I was seven and that was a really weird trip to the hospital.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," I did almost drop the glass at that point, as I looked up to see Grover. The boy looked like he hadn't slept in a week, as he leant against the porch railing. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and converse, that I'm sure hid his weird goat legs, and a bright orange t-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Under his arm, he was cradling a shoe box and it almost convinced me that everything was okay.

Key word. Almost.

"You saved my life," Grover said, smiling weakly. "I...well, the least I could do...I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap, and I contemplated my existence as I opened it to reveal the Minotaur's horn, the tip splattered with blood.

"The Minotaur," I pulled the horn out, running my hand over it as memories of that night replayed in my mind.

"Urn, Romy, it isn't a good idea—"

"The Minotaur. Half man, half bull." I recited, as Grover shifted uncomfortably. We fell silent, for a moment.

"You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom..." I trailed off as Grover looked down.

I nodded my head, taking a deep breath to control all of the anger in me. The world carried on around us, and I chewed my lip and placed the glass down to prevent it from smashing. Blinking back tears, I huffed.

This wasn't fair. My mother was was gone. The world has lost one of the most angelic people in it, how could it go on looking so beautiful when this had happened. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm so sorry."

He stomped his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"It's alright, kid." He reached out, before wrapping his arms around me. I gripped him just as tight, patting the top of his hair before hiding as I hit a little horn.

How had I not noticed that before?

I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even minotaurs. All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Did that mean Smelly Gabe was my legal guardian?

I'd much rather live on the streets. I'd be eighteen soon, then I could join the army and they'd give me a stable income and a roof over my head. Who knew what would happen if I stayed with him.

"I was supposed to protect you, and I failed." Grover's voice broke as I shook my head.

"You didn't fail." My heart ached at my next words. "I'm safe."

We both went silent.

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least...I was."

"But why...?" I suddenly felt dizzy, like I'd just got off of a roundabout.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

Buttery popcorn, mixed with home and the taste of my mum's blue cookies all rolled up into one drink. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy.

My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.

"Sorry," I said. "I should've let you taste it."

His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just...wondered."

"Popcorn and chocolate-chip cookies," I said. "My mom's. Home-made."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards," I smirked at the thought, envisioning the auburn haired woman being thrown across the field. What an amazing dream.

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff"

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse, but it felt like running cross country as I struggled around it. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I was feeling oddly overprotective of it.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing.

The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheatre, a circular arena—sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. A tiny child leant against the railing watching it all, her eyes darting to and fro like she expected something to happen. The orange t-shirt was bright against her dark skin, and a yankees cap was tucked into the pocket of her jeans.

The man facing me was tall, a mess of dark, greying curls on his head. His eyes were narrowed, a wild beard on his face and slightly mad eyes. He was dressed in a loud shirt, a glass in his hand.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than most. And you already know Chiron... ."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realised he was sitting in a wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Is that Mr. Brunner?" I would recognize the scraggly professor look anywhere.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B (which, let me tell you, was a bitch for my mental health).

"Ah, good, Andromeda," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who narrowed his eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "This is a new one. I haven't met this one."

"Hi?" I smiled nervously, as Mr. Brunner turned back to the tiny girl, who was clenching and unclenching her hands in her jeans, still looking around.

"Annabeth?" She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady is Annabeth Chase, she's been helping to look after you. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Andromeda's bunk? We'll be putting her in Cabin Eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say something complementary.

Instead I got; "You drool when you sleep."

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, pulling her braids up into a bun, looking back over her shoulder every once and a while, as I watched her go with a raised eyebrow. Looking at Grover, who was struggling not to laugh, I turned back around to look at my old teacher.

"So, you work here?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

It took a moment for the dusty gears in my brain to kick in, before my eyes widened and everything started to click together.

"Oh," I nodded, before looking over at Mr. D. "And you're...oh! Got it, maybe, I think."

Mr. D looked up from shuffling cards, as I tapped my forehead as my brain finally collected the limited dots.

"I must say, Andromeda," Chiron-Brunner hybrid broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?" As far as I knew, Chiron/Brunner/the guy I'd once called Dad had never been to my house.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to...ah, take a leave of absence."

That didn't sound shifty in the slightest.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair and I smiled slightly. Despite it all, Grover was the same kid that I had taken under my wing that first day at Yancy.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not, sir," I replied, and he gave me an appreciative look at the use of the title. I did know how to suck up to adults on occasion.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilised young children to know the rules."

"I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said, as the rest of my brain came back to me and I struggled to remember what this place was.

"Why am I here?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards as Chiron sent me a sad smile.

"Andromeda," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?'

"She said..." I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young girl, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "Our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Andromeda. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, child. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table, waiting for a call of 'we got you' but they didn't. They were being serious.

Mr. D was cackling, tipping the last of his can into his glass, before tallying up points with a viscous look in his eyes.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminium can and chewed it mournfully. My eyes widened as I watched him. Now, I might be terrible at Biology, but even I was sure that aluminium didn't make for a healthy gut.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God?"

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G , God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavours: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?" I watched him incredulously. Small? Greek Gods? Small?

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." We'd actually talked about the Roman gods, but I managed to translate them quickly.

"Zeus," I said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young girl," Mr. D snapped, glaring as I straightened my back on instinct. "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"Damn, I think my brain has just been fried," I replied, rubbing my forehead, as I placed a couple of cards down on the table. "What does that mean for me?"

"I believe I win." Mr. D, who I was starting to think was a god, called.

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

I thought Mr. D was going to vaporise Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me, with a wide grin that was a complete juxtaposition of his earlier tone. "Cabin Eleven, Andromeda Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Is the kid going to be alright?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Dionysus isn't really mad. He's just not too pleased because he wants to get home quicker. We've been waiting for you to wake."

"Is that Mount Olympus?" I asked, still attempting to process that Mr. D was actually Dionysus. "Is there really a palace there?"

"Yes. There's Mount Olympus, in Greece." Chiron explained. "The rest of the gods have spread across the world now, to most corners. At the moment, one of the most well known is in New York. For conferences and all that. The rest are spread here and there."

I sat back in my chair, slightly stunned that apparently the gods had a conference centre/palace in New York that no one had known about. Turning to look at Chiron, I narrowed my eyes.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who am I? Why am I here?" It was time to get into the deep philosophical questions, because I had no clue how to answer what was being told to me.

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in Cabin Eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt, becoming part of an animal.

My jaw dropped, and I glanced back at the glass on the table, as Chiron stood up, his bottom half that of a horse as I wondered who had spiked my drink.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Andromeda Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

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Hiya,

So, the first bit we kind of see Luke, Andi is a mood and we had to include Annabeth's iconic line. Any feedback on the book is one that I'd love to hear, and any changes needed in the books, please just let me know. I'm always down to edit and change my books.

Let me know what you think,

Love Li xx