¹POCKET FULL OF POSIES. p. jackson

𝐗. hotel trapped for eternity

pocket full of posies
❛ x. hotel trapped for eternity ❜

━━━━━ THE WAR GOD was waiting for them in the diner parking lot.

              "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."

              "You knew it was a trap," Percy said, his face set into angry lines.

              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 an asshole."

              Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover caught their 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 Josephine 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.

              Josephine's jaw dropped, "You're kidding! Er—Lord Ares."

              Ares snapped his fingers. The door of the truck was unlatched. "Free ride west, Posie. You know, you're a lot like your father, kid. TV suits you."

              That's the last thing you want, isn't it? that voice spoke up, its tone surprisingly soft. To be compared to Apollo. But Ares isn't wrong. You and Apollo are alike in many ways.

              The god rubbed the top of her head, jostling her head back and forth. The girl scowled, smoothing down her head when the god removed his hands.

              "But—sir—those are live animals!" Josephine protested.

              "Stop complaining," the god said. "Anyways, here's a little something for doing the job."

              The God of War slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Inside the bag were fresh clothes for everyone, twenty dollars, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a pack of Double Stuff Oreos.

              Percy was scowling. "I don't want your fuc—"

              "Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, sending the boy his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."

              Josephine grabbed Percy's upper arm, giving him a cautious look. He reluctantly slung the backpack over his shoulder. The daughter of Apollo glanced back at the diner, which only had a couple of customers now. The waitress who had served the questers was watching them nervously out the window, as if she was afraid Ares might hurt them. The worker dragged the cook from the kitchen to see. She said something, and he nodded, holding up a disposable camera and snapping a picture of them.

              The girl rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes in frustration. Great, she thought. Just what we need, another article to come out.

              "You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, his voice wavering with anger. "You promised me information about my mother."

              "You sure you can handle the news?" The god kick-started his motorcycle. "She's not dead."