This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―xiii. the thrill ride o' love

A FEW MINUTES LATER, they were sitting at a booth in a gleaming chrome diner. All around them, families were eating burgers and drinking milkshakes and sodas. 

A waitress came over, her expression skeptical. "Well?" 

"We, um, want to order dinner," Percy said. 

"You kids have money to pay for it?" 

Grover's lower lip quivered. Annabeth looked ready to pass out from hunger. 

Naomi was gauging whether the usual poor-little-orphan story would be sad enough to get them free food when a rumble shook the entire building; a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant had pulled up to the curb.

All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red. Its gas tank had flames painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather—but leather that looked like... like human skin. 

The guy on the bike looked like he strangled cute, fluffy animals for fun. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had brutal but wickedly handsome face, like a luxury car that had crashed into a brick wall. 

As he walked into the diner, a hot, dry wind blew through the place. All the people rose, as if they were hypnotized, but the biker waved his hand dismissively and they all sat down again. 

Everybody went back to their conversations. The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. She asked them again, "You kids have money to pay for it?" 

"It's on me," the biker said. He slid into their booth, which was way too small for him, and crowded crowded Annabeth and Naomi together against the window. 

He looked up at the waitress, who was gaping at him, and said, "Are you still here?" 

He pointed at her, and she stiffened. She turned as if she'd been spun around, then marched back toward the kitchen. 

The biker faced Percy, giving him a wicked grin. "So you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?" 

Percy's eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?" 

Annabeth flashed him a warning look. "Percy, this is—" 

The biker raised his hand, and Naomi tried to hide her flinch. For a moment, she was selfishly glad Annabeth was sitting between them. 

"S'okay," the biker said. "I don't mind a little attitude. Long as you remember who's the boss. You know who I am, little cousin?"

"You're Clarisse's dad," Percy said. "Ares, god of war." 

The god grinned and took off his shades. Where his eyes should have been, there was only fire—empty sockets glowing with miniature nuclear explosions. "That's right, punk. I heard you broke Clarisse's spear." 

"She was asking for it." 

"Probably. That's cool. I don't fight my kids' fights, you know? What I'm here for—I heard you were in town. I got a little proposition for you." 

The waitress came back with heaping trays of food—cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings, and chocolate shakes. 

Ares handed her a few drachmas. 

She looked nervously at the coins. "But, these aren't..." 

Ares pulled out his huge knife and started cleaning his fingernails. "Problem, sweetheart?"