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𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Chiron sighed. The old centaur looked exhausted, "Anastasia, please. You do not have the biggest choice. Your cooperation and help would be beneficial."
"I don't help the gods," Anastasia said gently, talking like she was millennia olds and he was just a thirteen year old girl. "I don't help them."
"This would help a demigod, not the gods."
"This is the gods' mess, not the son of Poseidon."
"Isn't it always?"
"Don't do it, Anastasia," Dionysus said, looking innocently at his pinochle cards. "You do this, it will never end. You will always be, what is it you say, cleaning the gods' mess."
"Is this what a headache feels like?" Anastasia put a gloved hand against her forehead.
"He needs someone with experience," Chiron said calmly, looking through his cards.
"Annabeth Chase has enough."
"Anastasia, you have a duty."
"A curse you mean. I don't have a choice in this matter, do I? Just like the last one."
It was silence from Chiron so Dionysus gave an annoyed sigh.
"No, it's not. Chiron here was trying to be nice. If the stupid boy is dumb enough to accept this suicide, you will be going down with him," Dionysus dropped his cards. It looked like a winning hand, but Chiron put his down, then Anastasia put hers.
She won.
"Fine," Anastasia said with a deep breath. "They win again."
But did she win? Does she ever?
Once Anastasia finished dealing out the cards again, she heard the door open. She heard two more heartbeats, one pounding more than the other, and a satyr's heartbeat.
"Well, well," Dionysus said without looking up. "Our little celebrity."
The other heartbeat sped up.
"Come closer," Dionysus said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."
A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. Anastasia smiled slightly.
