Aven Wilson has never once been happy. Thanks mom.
To this date, she is the only known daughter of Akhlys, goddess of misery and poison, and, oh boy, can you tell. It's hard to stick around her, and Aven doesn't blame the people that avoid her gaze...
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▬▬▬𝖨𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖲 𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖠𝖡𝖤𝖳𝖧'𝖲 𝖨𝖣𝖤𝖠.
She loaded us into the back of a Vegas taxi as if we actually had money, and told the driver, "Los Angeles, please."
The cabbie chewed his cigar and sized us up. I didn't blame him. Four kids in Vegas? "That's three hundred miles. For that, you gotta pay upfront."
"You accept casino debit cards?" Annabeth asked.
He shrugged. "Some of' em. Same as credit cards. I gotta swipe 'em through, first."
Annabeth handed him her green LotusCash card.
He looked at it skeptically. Smoke billowed out of the corner of his mouth and I wrinkled my nose.
"Swipe it," Annabeth invited.
He did.
His meter machine started rattling. The lights flashed. Finally, an infinity symbol came up next to the dollar sign.
The cigar fell out of the driver's mouth. He looked back at us, his eyes wide.
"Where to in Los Angeles. . . . uh, Your Highness?"
"The Santa Monica pier." Annabeth sat up a little straighter. I could tell she liked the 'Your Highness' thing. "Get us there fast, and you can keep the change."
Maybe she shouldn't have told him that. The cab's speedometer never dipped below ninety-five the whole way through the Mojave Desert. It was a miracle we didn't get pulled over.
On the road, we had plenty of time to talk. Grover took the passenger seat, claiming he couldn't smell anything, which was a good sign. Percy told us about his latest dream, but couldn't seem to remember the fine details. It was like the Lotus Casino short-circuited his memory. He tried to pry out the title that the invisible servant had used, and I fervently hoped it wasn't "The Miserable."
