Before Jasper's completely grasped the situation and found a suitable plan of action, I'm moving, nocking an arrow and jumping seat tops to get the hellhounds within firing range.

One arrow thunks into a shoulder blade; another skims through greasy black fur and ricochets into a window, shattering it like crackers in the palm of a very angry child. They're still coming for us, and, having seen me in all my demigod glory, they've even more enthusiastic, licking their chops and wagging mottled tails.

Gross. Just plain gross.

"Lyra! Above you!"

I snap my head back, eyes roaming the too-close ceiling above while my preoccupied hands go through the motions of pulling back the string, taut and shivering with exhilaration - a practiced skill that I've been cultivating for years. I fire and just barely miss scewering a bloodshot eye; only problem is, the eye is attached to a pissy-looking businessman, not a mutant canine from the foggy depths of Hades.

But that's not important right now (not at this very second, anyway) because I see what Jasper's shouting about.

An emergency escape hatch, used for when fires are swallowing the bus whole and other regrettable incidents. I'm pretty sure this qualifies, so I'm taking it.

"Alright, let's move!"

I'm crossing seats again, playing a ridiculously one-sided game of cat-and-mouse with wicked dog things snapping at my exposed heels. I can see Jasper ushering Isaiah past shell-shocked passengers, who are probably too withdrawn by now to question why there's a pack of wild dogs at a New York City bus station and why three teenagers seem mostly unaffected by it - besides the obvious running for our lives we're currently doing.

Without pausing to consider the consequences, I leap from the seat and kick off from Jasper's sturdy shoulder, propelling myself towards the hatch. I catch onto the wheel-shaped handle and, using the momentum I've managed to gather, twist myself around (opening the hatch in the process) and swan-dive into an empty seat, my back slamming painfully into the thick window when I somehow end up landing upside down.

I'm so smooth, you could figure skate on me in your goddamn socks.

By the time I'm right-side-up, Jasper has Isaiah on his shoulders, helping him up to and out of the hatch; beads of nervous sweat dot his brow, trickling down his profile and collecting into a dripping pool at his chin. I fire off a few more arrows into the pack of hellhounds, but it doesn't do much more than make them skitter back a bit. All I'm doing is buying time. And doing poorly at that.

Another arrow fails to squish into its target. I mutter a curse (in Greek of course) under my breath, scrabbling to back away as the hound shakes out its decrepit fur, dislodging the arrow that had tangled in a greasy knot.

"We gotta get them away from the mortals!" I shout - despite my words I'm not mindful of the plain folk at all, too focused on the imminent danger in front of me to care whether they hear me or not. "So move it, Jasper, you're next!"

He's not really waiting for my go-ahead, seeing as how he's positioned himself atop a seat just feet from the opening, his muscles bunched, poised for flight. I cover him as he takes the leap, snagging the edge of the opening with one hand; the other dangles behind him, his sword gripped tightly in white-knuckled fingers. My eyes widen as he suddenly twists, arcing his sword above my head (because I've just managed to duck with my demigod reflexes) - monster dust splatters everywhere, coating me in gray-gold filth that has my allergies going wild.

How in Hades did he--?

The thought cuts off as I'm jerked upwards, Jasper's trembling hand coiled around the back of my shirt. He drags me from the bus, gaining Isaiah's help when I'm halfway up, but not before I fire off another round of arrows into the pack of hounds circling just below me feet, taking leaps at my ankles every time they see an opening.

We don't take a moment to rest; the hellhounds are already moving after us, scraping and scrabbling inside the metal beast to cut us off in the open. The three of us - with barely a concerned look at one another - rush across the sun-warmed roof, our sneakers practically steaming from contact with the molten metal.

(Just an FYI, don't ever accept a dare to put your exposed hand on burning-hot metal for an extended period of time. So what if Jasper had ambrosia at the ready? It still hurt like Hades and I made sure to explain that to him in explicit detail afterwards - Mr. D was not pleased at how fluent I was in Potty Mouth)

There's no time to coach him down, so Jasper does the next best thing: He pushes a hesitating Isaiah from the back of the bus.

"Really...?" I sigh, wincing at Isaiah's muffled moan of pain.

"Blame our time constraint," Jasper fires back tersely. He then proceeds to jump down himself, landing in a graceful half-crouch next to the sprawled-out form of our quest-mate.

My head snaps up at the sound of hellish growling vibrating through the fear-charged air. The hounds, loose from the bus and annoyed at our earlier escape, make a dash for Jasper and Isaiah, who are busy trying to pick themselves up from their falls (mostly Isaiah - the boy has no coordination).

I sigh. Death around every corner...

I kick off from the edge fo the roof and backtrack to a better vantage point, drawing my bow as I move. I'm aiming, my sights set on the great big behemoth trying to eat Jasper's Celestial Bronze like it's coated in eau de demigod, but pull back at the last second:

"Moron! Mass times velocity!"

"....What?" is the best answer I can stutter, my eyes cutting abruptly to Jasper, who's already turned his flaming gaze on me. While holding off two hellhounds and covering Isaiah, who's bravely swatting his toothpick-esque weapon at a third, he still manages to give me his famously unimpressed look: Brows drawn together, mouth half-curled in a mocking smirk that's meant to be more scornful than it really is.

All in all, a waste of time.

"The arrows way nothing in comparison to these things!" he grounds out, teeth clenched to the point of chipping, the strain evident in his creased forehead. "Therefore" - he's shoved back a few feet, nearly tripping over Isaiah, but regaining his balance in time to throw off an advancing hellhound, all before I can take a breath - "you need velocity! Speed! Without it, your momentum won't be enough to pierce their flesh!"

Realization dawns on me in a quick flash of understanding, and I bob my head, the cold weight of fear slowly falling from my shoulders.

I can't get the kind of speed he wants from this short distance using my bow, so we're going to try an unconventional method Jasper can wring my neck for later.

I drop my bow into my bag of wonders, pluck an arrow from my quiver, forgo the traditional deep-breath-of-courage and take a running start that comes to too quick of a halt.

All I can hear in the next few tortuously long seconds is the wind cutting into my cheeks, Isaiah's awe-filled gasp, and Jasper shouting, above it all, "For the love of Olympus, can I not leave you alone for a second?!"

Then reality comes crashing down and I slam into the hellhound going for Jasper's neck. The impact nearly sends me sprawling but it I hold my (metaphorical) ground, and let an inappropriately delighted smile creep across my lips as I realize the arrow (which I somehow maneuvered into the monster's neck) is now drowning in cough-inducing dust and I'm slumped on the ground, colored an annoyingly dull gold for my troubles.

Jasper's dropping to his knees in front of me before I can shake myself free of the disgusting nuisance. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanks me closer, our foreheads pressed together. I suck in a sharp breath as he hisses, "You're not the only hero here, Lyra! Value your life a little more."

And he pushes me back, two hands on my shoulders, a harsh shove into the asphalt that leaves me dazed and breathless, so much so that I fail to notice our lack of general mayhem until my eyes land on something glinting among the sea of monster dust.

Well, two things. The first is something that more or less resembles a bloody dog tooth (which I'm guessing is some spoils of war that I have a bizarre desire to claim) and the other... is an arrow. Glowing silver, like solidified moonlight.

In fact, our little patch of road is littered with them, like stars fallen from the sky, drifting in the swamp of monster corpses.

And standing a mere twenty feet away are a group of girls, all dressed in camo pants and silvery parkas, glowing like the night sky with quivers slung across their backs and drawn bows in their perfectly poised hands.

Two girls step forward - I note that the others, while they don't move or make an open show of hostility, can't seem to refrain from murdering both Jasper and Isaiah with their eyes. I, however, am pretty much in the clear. Or so I think, anyway, until I'm confronted with the only two girls to approach our group.

One is a dark beauty, her black hair short and punkishly spiky, eyes an electrifying blue, a splash of freckles across her fair nose. A silver circlet rings her raven hair like a tiara. She's not even sixteen, but radiates an air of maturity that far outmatches mine.

The other is smaller, lither, of a different sort of beauty but breathtaking nonetheless. Auburn hair braided and flung over one shoulder, eyes like two brilliant moons, just as sharp and just as watchful. They soften as she takes in the completely star-struck look no doubt invading my face.

"You're not looking so hot, Lyra," the ravenette comments, her mouth quirking into a disarmingly friendly smirk.

I feel my own lips twitch up in response. "That tends to happen when one dive-bombs a vicious hellhound. We can't all look as badass as you all the time, Thalia."

Her shoulders shake with silent laughter as she shoulders her bow and holds out a hand to me, pulling me to my feet when I take it. "Damn right," she chuckles.

She helps pat me down, dislodging any and all lingering dust (she's acutely aware of my allergies and takes pity on me whenever we fight together). When I look mildly presentable, I have enough presence of mind to start (a quick, jerky movement that looks like I'm having a teeny-tiny seizure) and swing around to fold myself into a gentleman's bow.

"L-Lady Artemis, it's, uh, I'm, you know, I'm--"

"You are Lyra Cithara," the goddess smiles, her silver eyes alight with guarded amusement, "daughter of my foolish brother. A skilled archer. That is all I need to know."

I raise my head, cheeks flushing pink from embarrassment. Gods, just how "foolish" is Dad, anyway....?

"So," Thalia starts, casting a wry glance at where Jasper and Isaiah are huddled (in a non-cuddly way) together not too far away, stormy gray eyes watching our scene reproachfully, curious brown eyes studying the wiry Hunters currently glaring daggers at them, "you ready to join the Hunters yet?"

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This chapter was written by Arctic_Sky