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As they got closer, Leo saw she was right. The grand entrance was bustling with doormen, valets, and porters taking bags. Sleek black luxury cars idled in the drive. People in elegant suits and winter cloaks hurried to get out of the cold.
"The North Wind is staying in a hotel?" Leo said. "That can't be—"
"Heads up, guys," Jason interrupted. "We got company!"
Leo looked below and saw what Jason meant. Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures—angry angels, with nasty-looking swords. They have wings like Elena's except uglier, he thought
Festus didn't like the angel guys. He swooped to a halt in midair, wings beating and talons bared, and made a rumbling sound in his throat that Leo recognized. He was getting ready to blow fire.
"Steady, boy," Leo muttered. Something told him the angels would not take kindly to getting torched.
"I don't like this," Jason said. "They look like storm spirits."
At first Leo thought he was right, but as the angels got closer, he could see they were much more solid than venti. They looked like regular teenagers except for their icy white hair and feathery purple wings. Their bronze swords were jagged, like icicles. Their faces looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but they definitely weren't twins.
One was the size of an ox, with a bright red hockey jersey, baggy sweatpants, and black leather cleats. The guy clearly had been in too many fights, because both his eyes were black, and when he bared his teeth, several of them were missing.
The other guy looked like he'd just stepped off one of Leo's mom's 1980s rock album covers—Journey, maybe, or Hall & Oates, or something even lamer. His ice-white hair was long and feathered into a mullet. He wore pointy-toed leather shoes, designer pants that were way too tight, and a god-awful silk shirt with the top three buttons open. Maybe he thought he looked like a groovy love god, but the guy couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he had a bad case of acne.
"The dude looks like he just came off one of my mom's 1980s rock album covers but with a bad case of acne," he heard Elena say, voicing his thoughts.
The angels pulled up in front of the dragon and hovered there, swords at the ready.
The hockey ox grunted. "No clearance."
"'Scuse me?" Leo said.
"You have no flight plan on file," explained the groovy love god. On top of his other problems, he had a French accent so bad Leo was sure it was fake. "This is restricted airspace."
"Destroy them?" The ox showed off his gap-toothed grin. Elena tensed her wings and weapons at the ready.
The dragon began to hiss steam, ready to defend them. Jason summoned his golden sword, but Leo cried, "Hold on! Let's have some manners here, boys. Can I at least find out who has the honor of destroying me?"
