𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

132

Jason looked like he was going to be sick. 

 The woman's dress was flowery green-and-red wraparound, like the skirt of a Christmas tree. She wore colorful plastic bangles and smiled so wide she looked like another one of the monsters they'd battled. Her hair was an over-teased corona of dyed blonde curls and her scent of lemons and aerosol.

Her eyes were blue like Jason's, but they gleamed with fractured light, like she'd just come out of a bunker after a nuclear war – hungrily searching for familiar details in a changed world.

"Dearest" She held out her arms.

Jason stumbled.

His Mist disguise burned off. His posture straightened. His walking stick turned back into an Imperial gold gladius.

"Mom?" he managed.

"Yes, dearest." Her image flickered. "Come, embrace me."

"You're – you're not real."

"Of course she is real." Varus's voice cut through the crowd. "Did you think Gaia would let such an important spirit languish in the Underworld? She is your mother, Beryl Grace, star of television, sweetheart to the king of Olympus, who rejected her not once but twice, in both his Greek and Roman aspects. She deserves justice as much as any of us."

Hadrian recovered first. "Jason," He said, projecting his voice as loudly as he could. He had given up on serving the ghosts, "Look at me"

Jason was ten feet away, he looked dazed and confused, not sure what to believe. Hadrian's heart felt like it was going to fall out of his chest. If Jason's mom was here did that mean...?

Varus sneered, "Hadrian Allaire, the demigod who survived Tartarus"

"I had help" He shrugged.

"Don't worry your pretty face" Varus said, "There's someone waiting for you as well"

No. 

No. 

No.

No. No. 

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

"Mon chéri" 

His heart was in his throat and he couldn't breathe.

 No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. 

"Maman?" He hated how small he sounded, like he didn't age past thirteen at all. He hated that he wanted to turn around, to hug her, to sob in her arms, to have her kiss his temple, tell him they were going to buy croissants, and spend their day in their pajamas. "C'est vraiment toi?"

Is it really you?

The French flowed easily. At home, they spoke in French, and at school, Hadrian talked to his friends in English. It may seem complicated for monolinguals, but it worked for him.

"Mon ange, tourne-toi. Regardez-moi"

My angel, turn around. Look at me

Hadrian had just confidently told Jason it wasn't his mom. But when he turned around to come face to face with his, he wasn't sure if he believed himself. She just looked so real. Realer than she appeared in his dreams. 

"Maman?" He hated how desperate and pathetic he sounded. He could feel the phantom pain from the hellhound bite in his side. Even though Bob had helped him heal, he could still see the faintest shadow, the outline of the jaw. "Pourquoi es-tu ici?"

Why are you here?

"Je t'attendais" She shrugged. I was waiting for you. Her hair was the same glossy brown he remembered, much like his own. She looked exactly like she had the last time Hadrian had seen her- a black t-shirt tucked in, a brown coat, and black boots. She looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. Despite her short attempt at fame, Hadrian had grown up in a middle-class house, nothing extravagant, but you couldn't tell that from the way Julliet Allaire carried herself.