Vol. 1-22: I do not like Percy Jackson

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Tyson gave us the short version: Rainbow the hippocampus- who'd apparently been following us ever since the Long Island Sound, waiting for Tyson to play with him- had found Tyson sinking beneath the wreckage of the CSS Birmingham and pulled him to safety. He and Tyson had been searching the Sea of Monsters ever since, trying to find us, until Tyson caught the scent of sheep and found this island.

"Tyson, thank the gods!" Percy said. "Annabeth is hurt!"

"You thank the gods she is hurt?" Tyson asked, puzzled.

"No!" I knelt beside Annabeth and was worried sick by what I saw. The gash on her forehead was worse than I'd realized. Her hairline was sticky with blood. Her skin was pale and clammy. I pulled her close, pressing my fingers to her neck. She had a pulse, but it wasn't as fast or strong as it should've been.

Percy gasped. "Tyson, the Fleece. Can you get it for me?"

"Which one?" Tyson said, looking around at the hundreds of sheep.

"In the tree!" Percy said. "The gold one!"

"Oh. Pretty. Yes." Tyson lumbered over, careful not to step on the sheep. If any of the others had tried to approach the Fleece, they would've been eaten alive, but I guess Tyson smelled like Polyphemus, because the flock didn't bother him at all. They just cuddled up to him and bleated affectionately, as though they expected to get sheep treats from the big wicker basket. Tyson reached up and lifted the Fleece off its branch. Immediately the leaves on the oak tree turned yellow. Tyson started wading back toward us, but Percy yelled, "No time! Throw it!"

The gold ram skin sailed through the air like a glittering shag Frisbee. Percy caught it with a grunt. It must've heavier than he'd expected.

I realized, for the first time, that I couldn't feel the healing aura of it.

Percy spread it over Annabeth, covering everything but her face, and I prayed silently to all the gods I could think of. I reached closer, trying to touch the Fleece.

Nobody else noticed that my hand passed right through it.

I mean, I knew it wouldn't end up healing me. I'm a ghost. You can't heal that. I just didn't think I wouldn't be able to touch it. It was barely my fingertips, but it was absolutely noticeable. The tips of my fingers had turned ghostly blue, the nails short as they had been when I was alive, blood stains on my fingers from when I died, and they had passed right through the Fleece.

I wanted to cry, but realized I couldn't.

The color returned to Annabeth's face suddenly. Her eyelids fluttered open. The cut on her forehead began to close. She saw Grover and said weakly, "You're not... married?"

Grover grinned. "No. My friends talked me out of it."

"Annabeth," Percy said, "just lay still."

But despite everyone's protests, she sat up, and I noticed that the cut on her face was almost completely healed. She looked a lot better. In fact, she shimmered with health, as if someone had injected her with glitter. But the Fleece came close to me again. Afraid of my secret being outed, I got up and moved away from her.

νεκρός || Annabeth Chase x Fem!OCWhere stories live. Discover now