𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

74

Percy wondered if he should tell Annabeth his dream about Gaea destroying Camp Half-Blood. He decided against it. She didn't need anything else to worry about—not with what she was facing.

But it made him wonder... what would have happened if they hadn't scared off Chrysaor's pirates? Percy and Annabeth would've been put in chains and taken to Gaea's minions. Their blood would have been spilled on ancient stones. Percy guessed that meant they would've been taken to Greece for some big horrible sacrifice. But Annabeth and he had been in plenty of bad situations together. They could've figured out an escape plan, saved the day... and Annabeth wouldn't be facing this solo quest in Rome.

It doesn't matter when you fall, Gaea had said.

"You shouldn't feel ashamed," Annabeth said. "You're thinking about Chrysaor, aren't you? Swords can't solve every problem. You saved us in the end."

In spite of himself, Percy smiled. "How do you do that? You always know what I'm thinking."

"I know you," she said.

"Percy," she said, "you can't carry the weight of this whole quest. It's impossible. That's why there are seven of us. And you'll have to let me search for the Athena Parthenos on my own."

"I missed you," he confessed. "For months. A huge chunk of our lives was taken away. If I lost you again—"

But it didn't feel the same anymore. None of the same fireworks, the way his heart nearly gave out when Annabeth had kissed him. Nothing felt right. Percy's whole world had been turned upside down for some reason.

He loved her. He really did. But not in the way he used to. He could feel the spark of a crush had been fading out for a long time, maybe he noticed from the day they had spent in the stables. But Annabeth didn't seem to mind either, she seemed resigned, like she accepted it.

Lunch arrived. The waiter looked much calmer. Having accepted the fact that they were clueless Americans, he had apparently decided to forgive them and treat them politely.

"It is a beautiful view," he said, nodding toward the river. "Enjoy, please."

Once he left, they ate in silence. The pizza was a bland, doughy square with not a lot of cheese. Maybe, Percy thought, that's why Romans didn't eat it. Poor Romans.

"You'll have to trust me," Annabeth said. Percy almost thought she was talking to her sandwich, because she didn't meet his eyes. "You've got to believe I'll come back."

He swallowed another bite. "I believe in you. That's not the problem. But come back from where?"

The sound of a Vespa interrupted them. Percy looked along the riverfront and did a double take. The motor scooter was an old-fashioned model: big and baby blue. The driver was a guy in a silky gray suit. Behind him sat a younger woman with a headscarf, her hands around the man's waist. They weaved between café tables and puttered to a stop next to Percy and Annabeth.

"Why, hello," the man said. His voice was deep, almost croaky, like a movie actor's. His hair was short and greased back from his craggy face. He was handsome in a 1950s dad-on-television way. Even his clothes seemed old-fashioned. When he stepped off his bike, the waistline of his slacks was way higher than normal, but somehow he still managed to look manly and stylish and not like a total goober. Percy had trouble guessing his age—maybe thirty-something, though the man's fashion and manner seemed grandfatherish.

The woman slid off the bike. "We've had the most lovely morning," she said breathlessly.

She looked about twenty-one, also dressed in an old-fashioned style. Her ankle-length marigold skirt and white blouse were pinched together with a large leather belt, giving her the narrowest waist Percy had ever seen. When she removed her scarf, her short wavy black hair bounced into perfect shape. She had dark playful eyes and a brilliant smile. Percy had seen naiads that looked less pixieish than this lady.