Basorexia (n.)
The overwhelming desire to kiss
Aster Romano is a son of darkness itself. He is the social outcast, that is, until Percy Jackson shows up and takes the him under his wing. Aster grows a strong bond with Jackson and even Annabeth, who...
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Basorexia (n.) The overwhelming desire to kiss
"One game of rock, paper, scissors," I blurted out. "If I win, you come with us. If I lose, we'll leave you in jail."
Annabeth and Percy looked at me like I was crazy.
Briares's face morphed to doubtful. "I always win rock, paper,scissors ."
"Then let's do it!" I pounded my fist in my palm three times.
Briares did the same with all one hundred hands, which sounded like an army marching three steps forward. He came up with a whole avalanche of rocks, a classroom set of scissors, and enough paper to make a fleet of airplanes. "I told you," he said sadly. "I always—" His face morphed to confusion. "What is that you made?"
"A gun," I told him, showing him my finger gun. It was a trick Travis and Conner had pulled on me, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "A gun beats anything."
"That's not fair." His face morphed into one of a pout, or sadness?
"I didn't say anything about fair. Kampê's not going to be fair if we hang around. She's going to blame you for ripping off the bars. Now come on!"
Briares sniffled. "Demigods are cheaters." Cry about it. But he slowly rose to his feet and followed us out of the cell. I started to feel hopeful. All we had to do was get downstairs and find the Labyrinth entrance. But then Tyson froze. On the ground floor right below, Kampê was snarling at us.
Fuck. Nope sorry, uh, by all that's in Zeus's pants, you've got to be kidding me.
*** "The other way," I said.
We bolted down the catwalk. This time Briares was happy to follow us. In fact he sprinted out front, a hundred arms waving in panic. Behind us, I heard the sound of giant wings as Kampê took to the air.
She hissed and growled in her ancient language, but I didn't need a translation to know she was planning to kill us. We scrambled down the stairs, through a corridor, and past a guard's station—out into another block of prison cells.
"Left," Annabeth said. "I remember this from the tour."
We burst outside and found ourselves in the prison yard, ringed by security towers and barbed wire. After being inside for so long, the daylight almost blinded me. Tourists were milling around, taking pictures.
The wind whipped cold off the bay. In the south, San Francisco gleamed all white and beautiful, but in the north, over Mount Tamalpais , huge storm clouds swirled. The whole sky seemed like a black top spinning from the mountain where Atlas was imprisoned, and where the Titan palace of Mount Othrys was rising anew.
It was hard to believe the tourists couldn't see the supernatural storm brewing, but they didn't give any hint that anything was wrong.
"It's even worse," Annabeth said, gazing to the north. "The storms have been bad all year, but that—"
