𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗘! 𝙥. 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙤𝙣 ¹

They Become One with Their Inner Turnip

CHAPTER ELEVEN: LYDIA

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 seethed.

Ares gave them 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 and Grover caught their breath. Lydia wondered if Percy would just get blasted to smithereens right then and there and they'd be forced to do the walk of shame back to camp.

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 they 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.

"You're kidding." Percy said.

"Do we look like live wild animals to you?" Lydia argued sassily, planting a hand on her hips.

Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punks. 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. Lydia peeked inside. There were fresh clothes for all of them, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Oreos.

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

"Actually, we'll take it." Lydia interrupted, eyes on the Oreos.

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

Reluctantly, Percy slung the backpack over his shoulder.

Lydia looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served them dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt them.

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 them.

Great, she thought. The cherry on top of the cake. Lydia had always thought being famous would be cool but this wasn't exactly what she had in mind.

"You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, pulling Lydia from her thoughts. "You promised me information about my mother."

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

Percy's face contorted into a flurry of emotions. "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, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."

"Nobody's controlling me."

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

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