Wild ― Piper McLean

―vi. the cold very much bothers verona

VERONA WOKE UP WITH HER HEAD ON PIPER'S BACK. As soon as she registered that fact, she bolted upright, face burning. It burned even hotter as Piper looked back, a curious expression on her face.

"Sorry," Verona said. "Didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"Oh, it's fine, Vee—I mean, Verona," Piper said. She laughed nervously. "It's all good."

She turned back around (thankfully for Verona's burning cheeks) to shake Leo awake. Verona glanced around, taking in the landscape below. City, river, plains. Snow dusted over everything, but the fading daylight painted it in warm oranges and reds. Buildings crowded together in the city like a medieval town. In the center was an actual castle with massive red brick walls and a square tower with a peaked, green gabled roof.

"Tell me that's Quebec and not Santa's workshop," Leo said.

"Yeah, Quebec City," Piper confirmed. "One of the oldest cities in North America. Founded around sixteen hundred or so?"

Leo raised an eyebrow at the daughter of Aphrodite. "Your dad do a movie about that too?"

"I read sometimes, okay?" Piper replied. "Just because Aphrodite claimed me, doesn't mean I have to be an airhead."

"You can be smart and pretty, right?" Verona asked. "I mean, not like I'd know, but—"

Piper looked back at her. "Oh, please, Vee—you're beautiful."

Verona blinked, her heart doing some weird little tap-dance in her chest. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Yeah, I'm not sold on the smart part anymore," Leo said under his breath.

"What?" Verona asked.

"Nothing," Leo said quickly. "So, what's that big castle?"

"A hotel, I think," Piper answered.

"No way."

But as they got closer, Verona realized Piper was right. The entrance was bustling with doormen, valets, bellhops; sleek sports cars idled in the drive, with people in elegant suits and winter coats hurrying into the castle to escape the cold.

"The North Wind staying in a hotel?" Leo questioned. "That can't be—"

"Heads up, guys," Jason interrupted. "We got company!"

Verona looked down and saw what he meant. Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures—angry angels, with nasty-looking swords.

Festus swooped to a halt midair, wings beating and talons bared, and made a rumbling sound in his throat.

"Steady, boy," Leo muttered.

"Storm spirits?" Verona asked, not taking her eyes off the two figures.

"Maybe," Jason said. "I don't like this."

As the angels got closer, Verona realized they were 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 fakes looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but they definitely weren't twins.

The angels pulled up to the front of Festus and hovered there. The larger of the two grunted, "No clearance."

"Excuse me?" Leo said.

"You have no flight plan on file," the other angel explained, his French accent so awful it sounded fake. The ice-white mullet and questionable fashion sense didn't give him any cool points, either. "This is restricted airspace."