Of Greeks And Romans (Leo Valdez x Reader)

XXXV

Percy

The old man was right where they’d left him, in the middle of the food truck parking lot. He sat on his picnic bench with his bunny slippers propped up, eating a plate of greasy shish kebab. His weed whacker was at his side. His bathrobe was smeared with barbecue sauce.

“Welcome back!” he called cheerfully. “I hear the flutter of nervous little wings. You’ve brought me my harpy?”

“She’s here,” Percy said. “But she’s not yours.”

Phineas sucked the grease off his fingers. His milky eyes seemed fixed on a point just above Percy’s head. “I see…Well, actually, I’m blind, so I don’t see. Have you come to kill me, then? If so, good luck completing your quest.”

“I’ve come to gamble.”

The old man’s mouth twitched. He put down his shishkebab and leaned toward Percy. “A gamble…how interesting. Information in exchange for the harpy? Winner take all?”

“No,” Percy said. “The harpy isn’t part of the deal.”

Phineas laughed. “Really? Perhaps you don’t understand her value.”

“She’s a person,” Percy said. “She isn’t for sale.”

“Oh, please! You’re from the Roman camp, aren’t you? Rome was built on slavery. Don’t get all high and mighty with me. Besides, she isn’t even human. She’s a monster. A wind spirit. A minion of Jupiter.”

Ella squawked. Just getting her into the parking lot had been a major challenge, but now she started backing away, muttering, “‘Jupiter. Hydrogen and helium. Sixty-three satellites.’ No minions. Nope.”

Hazel put her arm around Ella’s wings. She seemed to be the only one who could touch the harpy without causing lots of screaming and twitching.

Frank stayed at Percy’s side. He held his spear ready, as if the old man might charge them.

Percy brought out the ceramic vials. “I have a different wager. We’ve got two flasks of gorgon’s blood. One kills. One heals. They look exactly the same. Even we don’t know which is which. If you choose the right one, it could cure your blindness.”

Phineas held out his hands eagerly. “Let me feel them. Let me smell them.”

“Not so fast,” Percy said. “First you agree to the terms.”

“Terms…” Phineas was breathing shallowly. Percy could tell he was hungry to take the offer. “Prophecy and sight ... I’d be unstoppable. I could own this city. I’d build my palace here, surrounded by food trucks. I could capture that harpy myself!”

“N-noo,” Ella said nervously. “Nope, nope, nope.”

A villainous laugh is hard to pull off when you’re wearing pink bunny slippers, but Phineas gave it his best shot. “Very well, demigod. What are your terms?”

“You get to choose a vial,” Percy said. “No uncorking, no sniffing before you decide.”

“That’s not fair! I’m blind.”

“And I don’t have your sense of smell,” Percy countered. “You can hold the vials. And I’ll swear on the River Styx that they look identical. They’re exactly what I told you: gorgon’s blood, one vial from the left side of the monster, one from the right. And I swear that none of us knows which is which.”

Percy looked back at Hazel. “Uh, you’re our Underworld expert. With all this weird stuff going on with Death, is an oath on the River Styx still binding?”