22 Chapter 22

Alex and Annabeth were sitting at a coffee shop — again, but this time they checked the name — lazily enjoying their continental breakfast. Alex had his eyes on the paper he had taken from a nearby table.

"It will be fifteen bucks, kid." The waiter told him. If he found it strange that a twelve-year-old and a seven-year-old were on their own, the first reading the newspaper and the latter making a detailed origami with the napkin, he didn't voice it out. Apparently, nothing was stranger than having a breakfast that could feel two grown-up men.

Alex looked at him, and with a vague gesture, replied. "A martini. Shaken, not stirred." To the demigods' eyes, a golden fog warped around the waiter's head.

"Right away, sir," The man replied before leaving them alone.

"You're getting pretty good at that," Annabeth said off-handedly, focused on folding the two ends of the napkin on itself.

"The fruits of practice, kiddo," Alex replied, reading the headlines. "You could do it too if—"

"But I can't. I just don't get it how you do it." She complained, taking a sip out of the lemonade she asked for instead of the coffee. "Still, I prefer having a plan beforehand. I'll leave the weird mist powers to you."

Learning how to control the mist had its perks, beyond the obvious use in tricking mortals' minds into seeing or thinking something they're not. It did help that Alex could make them believe he'd already paid for whatever stuff they took. So, no more sweating the details while taking stuff. Alex liked to just wing it and wiggle himself out of the shitstorms by using the mist. Annabeth was more of a planner. She reminded him of Batman, to be honest. A short, blonde, young and girly Batman with a bit of sass in between; but just as smart and strong-willed.

The mist, as rudimentary Alex's control over it was, helped them frequently in getting rides with strangers from the country road near the cabin to Richmond and back — they could safely ignore the obvious dangers of accepting lifts from unknown people. Buses and taxis also worked, but Alex always found it to be simpler to approach a nearby car and mess with the driver.

There was only one rule with it: always check the mortals with celestial bronze. A simple tap with the flat part of the blade worked, and it was better to be overly careful than not to be at all.

Alex looked at the date in the newspaper. Today, it marked one year since his dad died, and a few months since the fight with the Cyclops siblings.

He had cut his hair a few inches shorter — he found out the hard way that having long hair could sometimes be a hindrance in combat — had stolen a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, and took up wearing sneakers entirely instead of boots. Otherwise, he hadn't changed much. Sure, he had an impressive collection of t-shirts from this or that rock band and hoodies, all gotten through not very legal means in the local Hot Topic. He couldn't help himself; especially when the new Blue Öyster Cult paraphernalia had come out.

Annabeth hadn't changed much as well, apart from growing a few inches. She started having her wavy blonde locks tied up in a ponytail after Alex cut his hair short. The boy may or may have not influenced her to become a Yankees fan. She was wearing his varsity jacket — just in case — but it looked more like a dress on her.

The clock struck nine in the morning, and the downtown streets were steadily filling with people getting to work. Alex eyed with a raised eyebrow the Dracanae (snake woman) on the other side of the road, who was looking around suspiciously. He sighed; they had overstayed their welcome.

"Done eating, pipsqueak?" He asked, folding the newspaper under his arm.

"Yep. Let's go." Annabeth folded the napkin one last time, leaving on the table a simple paper elephant.

They sat up and walked casually down the street. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the Dracanae spotting them and grinning. She slithered across the road evading the traffic and stopping in front of them.

"Demigods—"

The snake woman burst into dust. Annabeth sheathed her dagger in the little leather scabbard Alex had made and kept walking, humming a Nirvana song as she did.

Alex smiled and praised her by ruffling her hair. At some point, they walked back to a loaded, red pickup truck that was parked in one of those giant parking lots with several stories. The driver, a beefy old man with a neckbeard, seemed to be asleep.

"Told you he'd still be here," Alex said, snapping his fingers. The man jolted awake, but his eyes remained glazed.

"Isn't this a bit mean?" Annabeth asked worriedly, ensuring the straps that held their new leather armchair were tight. "He could have important things to do today."

"As long as you don't hurt them," Alex answered. Where would the armchair look the best? "And he didn't seem in a hurry when I ensnared him, did he?"

The little girl dropped the subject, getting in the backseat of the truck. When Alex sat by the man's side, he flicked his finger.

"I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

"Y-yeah…" The driver answered sluggishly, "Got to… gotta get to Kansas."

Half an hour later, they reached the dirt road that led to their home. Alex felt the barrier of the ward wash over them like jelly. The redneck dazzlingly parked the truck near the entrance and fell asleep again as Alex and Annabeth began unloading the provisions they had taken and whatever had struck their fancy. This time was the leather armchair and a plastic model of the Virginia State Capitol.

While Annabeth carefully took the model into the cabin, Alex looked at the chair with a heavy frown. He had messed with the guy at the shop to help him place it on the loading floor of the pickup, but he didn't know how to take it down and take it beyond the few steps that separated the ground from the porch of the cabin.

Well, he was strong, stronger than any preteen had any right to be, so he could try… no, he didn't want to drop the comfy armchair on the ground.

He thought about it briefly. It was going to be a hassle, but building some crap to lower the armchair on the ground lightly was going to cost him both time and effort.

Lost in thought, he didn't see Annabeth come out of the house with a set of shovels, hoist them in the border of the loading floor, forming a ramp; and pushing the armchair down said ramp.

With a solid thump, Alex's new, beautiful leather armchair landed safely on the ground.

Annabeth gave him a grin, and he sighed with a smile. "Kids these days." He muttered, unknowingly slipping into ancient Greek.

==========

The night was annoyingly loud. No, scratch that, the rain was. There was so much thunder rumbling in the clouds that Alex could barely listen to his own thoughts. The minimum the stupid ward his mother had made could do was dampen the sound, no? Still, it was weird. In the almost a year that he spent living in his grandparents' cabin, he'd never seen the sky behave like that.

He was enjoying a cup of tea in his new armchair, distractedly writing in his diary, doing a collage with the photos he'd taken today, and trying to make head or tails out of some of Hal's handwriting. The vinyl disc was spinning some Stairway to Heaven (the long one) from the album Led Zep IV, cheerfully opposing the downpour outside.

Annabeth was fast asleep, one of those geometry books of hers sprawled open on the ground. She looked so comfortable Alex couldn't bring himself to wake her up and put her to bed.

The solo was about to play. However, Alex heard a clicking sound that was not part of the song, immediately identifying it with the front door being lockpicked.

"Annabeth. Annabeth!" He called. The little girl jumped to her feet, hair stuck to her face, but focused eyes.

"W-who is it?" She asked, shooting glances at the door.

"No idea. Hide behind the drawers while I check." Alex whispered.

"No! I want to help you!" She complained in a whisper.

"And you're gonna help me," Alex pinched her cheek. "If I'm in trouble, you can attack them from behind, capische?"

Nodding reluctantly, Annabeth hid behind the drawers in the living room.

Alex heard the sound again. Lockpicking meant either people or humanoid monsters. This indicated that his mother's, modestly speaking, complex magic ward had failed — without a keystone, mortal or not, they weren't supposed to pass through it.

Luckily, the living room where they spent most of their relaxation time had a great view to the side of the front door, meaning he could wait until whatever it was entered the cabin without seeing him.

He had his loyal sword already in hand, but it didn't hurt to be prepared. He grabbed a kitchen knife and crept along the wall, purposely using the shadows to darken the area around him. He walked to the corner next to the door and squatted down in the dark; he had left his steaming teacup balanced on the kitchen counter, hoping the intruder would be led to believe he was still there, unaware.

Over the music and the sounds of the downpour outside, Alex heard them walk in, before carefully crossing the door as quietly as possible.

Leading the way was a girl between 10 to 13 years old, shoulder-length, choppy black hair, electric blue eyes, and freckles across her nose. She had delicate features, but despite those almost fairy-like traits, she wore a black T-shirt, tattered black jeans, and a leather jacket. She was lithe, almost slender, which was rare considering she was around Alex's age.

After the punk girl came in a kid who looked older… fifteen-ish, maybe? Clearly older than Alex, with sandy blonde hair cut short, blue eyes, a sharp nose, a sneaky look, and a golf club on his hands. He seemed to be leading, seeing as he was defending the rear, while the punk rocker was probably the heavy hitter. Weapons-wise, she had something better than a driver — a long, bronze spear, with a sharp-looking end.

The two moved in, their eyes darting everywhere and not stopping over Alex's hidden form. Alex moved silently, his will over the shadows covering him and the mist smothering even the barest sound of his footsteps until he was behind the leader. He brought his arms forward, in a parody of a hug, until the sword in his right hand pointed just below the ribcage of the target, and the knife in his left was at a hairbreadth from the jugular. He saw the dude's friend slowly creeping towards the empty armchair; Led Zepplin uncaringly kept singing.

Alex's first observation was that they were just like him — demigods. However, he didn't let his interactions with Hal and Annabeth fool him; these two could have bad intentions, and if the need arose, he'd spill mortal blood for the first time without hesitation. He'd deal with the guilt later.

"Normally, I would offer shelter to anyone who kindly asked." Alex's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, turning it into a rightly bellicose one.

With a yelp of surprise, the sandy-haired kid froze, and the punk girl whirled herself ready for a fight.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted, making the sword and knife known to his target skin. "A move and he dies." He spoke to the other, his eyes running over their forms.