La Vie en Rose // Percy Jackson

xi. we take a zebra to vegas

The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."

"You knew it was a trap," Percy said.

Ares gave him a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."

Percy shoved his shield at him. "You're a jerk." Annabeth, Grover and I caught our breath.

Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.

"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."

The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

Percy said, "You're kidding."

Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."

He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy.

Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.

Percy said, "I don't want your lousy-"

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving Percy his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."

Percy gritted his teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but he obviously didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, he slung the backpack over his shoulder. His anger was being caused by the war god's presence, but he looked like he was still itching to punch him in the nose. He seemed to remind Percy of every bully he'd ever faced, however many that was.

Percy and I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us.

Great, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAWS BEAT UP DEFENSELESS BIKER.

It was in a way, kind of amusing.

"You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep his voice level. "You promised me information about my mother."

"You sure you can handle the news?" He kickstarted his motorcycle. "She's not dead."

The ground seemed to spin beneath Percy as he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept."

"Kept. Why?"

"You need to study war, punks. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."

"Nobody's controlling me."

He laughed. "Oh yeah? See you around, kids."

Percy balled up his fists. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues."

Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. I felt a hot wind in my hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your backs."

He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street. Annabeth and I said, "That was not smart, Percy."