The Spirits of the Universe (PJO)

Chapter 5--Some Friendly Thugs Enter Our House--EDITED

A/N--As always, please tell me if I have any pronoun mistakes. This transition is harder than I expected XD. Enjoy!

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Three weeks later, I found myself outside Balms and Elixirs—a place I had realized wasn't a hospital, but an apothecary, the hard way.

My nightmares had gotten worse—up to the point that I forced myself to sleep outside in the lake behind Esterhaven—our house—so that Daphne and Gilbert wouldn't hear my pained screams. There had been a few unfriendly sharks, but we made peace within a few minutes of fighting. 

Plus, my sedatives had run out a week ago.

I'd timed it perfectly. My guardians were at their "job"—probably meeting up with other immortals. 

The city tour proved useful when I had no problem navigating to the busy plaza from Esterhaven. Who the heck names their house? It's not a living thing.

How do you know it isn't? End asked ominously as I strode into the shop to the sedatives section.

Maybe because the house didn't care when I walked through its corridors late at night, I retorted.

I blinked at the vials of colorful sedatives stretching as far as my eye could see. I sighed, steeling myself for the lengthy search.

It took me five hours. Five, painstaking hours of sifting through bottles of different kinds of strong sedatives that only an assassin would need to put a target into a very, very deep sleep.

Just ask someone for help, End groused. Your angst is bad enough—but adding shopping to the mix? Please kill me now.

If I knew how to, I would, I shot back.

I wasn't so sure about her suggestion about requesting assistance; I was pretty sure that Daphne and Gilbert were well-regarded in the city. If I informed someone else about my situation, there wouldn't be a guarantee that they wouldn't snitch. And then . . .

It was better not to think about it. 

Just then, a guy turned the corner and entered the aisle. I couldn't help but scan him for hostility.

He was about my age, but I knew better than to dismiss him because of that. His stance was casual, yet prepared to fight at any moment. His azure eyes flitted over the vials of sedatives without reading the labels as though he was experienced enough to tell them apart just by the color. His brown hair was recovering from a recent buzz cut, but he still managed to pull it off easily. I immediately concluded he was a battle medic when I noticed a small bulge at his waist—a hidden dagger that was so expertly concealed only a war veteran would see it.

That's why I was caught off guard when the man asked me if I knew where a specific potion was.

Battle medic my ass, End snickered when I was taken aback but helped the man.

Maybe he's a newbie, I argued, finally finding the right sedative—apparently called soporife—and strode out of the store. Two steps later, I'd already forgotten about the interaction.

~~~

When I went to get more soporife, I ran into the man again. Literally.

Even worse, the medic was carrying multiple jars and bottles of medicine, which he lost his grip on when he was jostled.

However, with my inhumane reflexes, I caught all of them a hairsbreadth from the ground.

"Oh man, I am so sorry," I apologized while handing the vials of elixirs back to the man, "I wasn't looking where I was going . . ."