The Winds Of Heaven (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

9. The North Wind

A/N: Hey! Long time no see. Too long. Sorry about that, I had my end-of-term exams. But now I've taken all of them, so I'm free!
I hope you'll like this chapter. It's a lot of talking, but talking has to be done at some point. Anyway, if it can make you a bit more happy today, then I consider my job done.
See you next time, happy reading!

Y/N realized he'd fallen asleep only when Annabeth shook him awake. The daylight was fading.

"We're here," she said.

Y/N rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Below them, a city sat on a cliff overlooking a river. The plains around it were dusted with snow, but the city itself glowed warmly in the winter sunset. Buildings crowded together inside high walls like a medieval town, way older than any place Y/N had seen before—except some parts of the Labyrinth. In the center was an actual castle—at least he assumed it was a 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," Ethan said.

"Yeah, Quebec City," Annabeth confirmed. "One of the oldest cities in North America. Founded in 1608."

"What's that castle?" Y/N asked.

"A hotel, I think," she said.

Leo laughed. "No way."

But as they got closer, Y/N saw that Annabeth 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!"

Y/N looked below and saw what Jason meant. Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures—angry angels, with nasty-looking swords.

Apparently, 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, coming from a metal dragon, could only mean one thing—he was getting ready to blow fire.

"Steady, boy," Leo muttered.

"I don't like this," Piper said. "They look like storm spirits."

An untrained eye could be fooled, but the angels were much more solid than storm spirits. 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 Chiron's vinyl records—something lame. 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 angels pulled up in front of the dragon and hovered there, swords at the ready.

The hockey ox grunted. "No clearance."

"Excuse me?" Y/N said.

"You have no flight plan on file," the groovy love god explained. On top of his problems, he had a French accent so bad Y/N was sure it was fake. "This is restricted airspace."