Just Add Water

interlude

Sally got the phone call early on in the morning—around seven o'clock.

His son was missing, apparently. Gone. Grover Underwood, his roommate, had also disappeared along with the alleged Mr. Bruner.

She knew better.

Even as she clutched the phone like a life force, and even as she felt her breathing freeze in her lungs, a part of her mind answered to the initial panic with clear-water reason. Something must've come up, though he was safe with them, most likely.

But that quickly led to a different type fear. Chiron had promised he'd wait 'till the summer to take Percy to camp; he'd sworn on the Styx. And yet, they'd left with Percy. They'd left with her baby boy, these people. Something must've happened, yes, but that something must've been terrible enough to guarantee an escape from the school grounds. An escape to camp.

Was Percy even alive? Was he hurt? Confused?

She threw the phone against the wall in frustration, crying out. Her entire body shook with anger, hot and blinding and spiraling out of her control.

You will never know, exactly, what your son will go through, a little voice reminded her.

All the times Poseidon had hesitated, all the times he'd left things out, it was for a reason. She was just a simple mortal, no more than a minor inconvenience to the matters of the supernatural world.

The world Percy belonged in most.

Her knees gave a final shudder before she collapsed on the floor. All she could truly do was rest her head in her hands, absently grabbing fistfuls of her hair, eyes shut tight.

Gods, she thought. What did they do to him? What did they do to my baby?

She opened her eyes, only to catch a glimpse of the discarded house phone, mostly intact despite her earlier tantrum. Another thought came to her at the sight, this one more calming: I can call camp. That's something I can still do, right? I know where it is, I can—

"Sally!"

His voice made her jump.

"When's that seven layer dip coming?" he called from the bedroom.

Her thoughts steeled and hardened into something else.

She stood up, worked her mouth and tongue so that her words turned to sweet tea, fluid and easy to consume. "Coming right up, darling!"

In the kitchen, she prepared the oils and ingredients. Mixed them in with guacamole and green tomatoes and adobera cheese. He'd been getting worse, her husband. Last month, she'd taken him to the hospital after he'd collapsed next to the bathroom; the doctors had said it was renal insufficiency. They'd mostly pegged it for his alcohol consumption.

But that wasn't exactly the case. She was lucky no one was unto her, at least, for now. She'd only wished the pennyroyal oil could be more efficient, deadlier. All in due time, she thought as she carefully plucked the tortilla chips into the melted cheese.

Then, she hesitated. Percy was gone. If he was at camp—if he'd been attacked, like last time—Gabe would be no use to her son's safety. Maybe it was stupid, maybe reckless; at this point, she didn't care. Her decision came as easily as writing, and she only had to pluck a few more necessary tablespoons for her work to be done. This time, she wouldn't fail.

"Here, honey," she said, placing the bowl next to his night drawer.