HORIZON ⸺ jason grace

vi. piper et violet parle en français

QUEBEC WAS really beautiful from above. It sat on a cliff overlooking a river. The plains around it were dusted with snow, but the city itself glowed warmly in the winter sunset.

Buildings crowded together inside high walls like a medieval town. In the center was an actual castle—at least Violet assumed it was a castle—with massive red brick walls and a square tower with a peaked, green gabled roof.

"Tell me that's Quebec and not Santa's workshop," Leo said.

"Yeah, Quebec City," Piper confirmed. "One of the oldest cities in North America. Founded around sixteen hundred or so?"

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Your dad do a movie about that too?"

"I read sometimes, okay? Just because Aphrodite claimed me, doesn't mean I have to be an airhead."

"Feisty!" Leo said, and both girls rolled their eyes. "So you know so much, what's that castle?"

"A hotel, I think."

Leo laughed. "No way."

Violet could see that Piper was right. The grand entrance was bustling with doormen, valets, and porters taking bags. Sleek black luxury cars idled in the drive. People in elegant suits and winter cloaks hurried to get out of the cold.

"The North Wind is staying in a hotel?" Leo said. "That can't be"

"I mean, where else would you stay?" Violet sassed.

"Heads up, guys," Jason interrupted. "We got company!" Rising from the top of the tower were two winged figures-angry angels, with nasty-looking swords.

Festus did not like the angel guys, which Violet thought was good judgement. He swooped to a halt in midair, wings beating and talons bared, and made a rumbling sound in his throat.

"Steady, boy," Leo muttered.

"I don't like this," Jason said. "They look like storm spirits."

They weren't. They basically resembled regular teenagers except for their icy white hair and feathery purple wings. Their bronze swords were jagged, and their faces looked similar enough that they might've been brothers, but definitely not twins.

One was the size of an ox, with a bright red hockey jersey, baggy sweatpants, and black leather cleats. The guy clearly had been in too many fights, because both his eyes were black, and when he bared his teeth, several of them were missing.

The other guy looked like he'd just stepped an 80's album cover. His ice-white hair was long and feathered into a mullet. He wore pointy-toed leather shoes, designer pants that were way too tight, and a god-awful silk shirt with the top three buttons open. Maybe he thought he looked like a groovy love god, but the guy couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he had a bad case of acne.

The angels pulled up in front of the dragon and hovered there, swords at the ready.

The hockey ox grunted. "No clearance."

"'Scuse me?" Leo said.

"You have no flight plan on file," explained the groovy love god. He had a French accent so bad that Violet was absolutely certain it was fake. Her grandmother would've thrown a fit. "This is restricted airspace."

"Destroy them?" The ox showed off his gap-toothed grin.

The dragon began to hiss steam, ready to defend them. Jason summoned his golden sword, but Violet cried, "Where are your manners, boys? Can we at least find out who has the honor of destroying us?"

"I am Cal!" the ox grunted. He looked very proud of himself, like he'd taken a long time to memorize that sentence.

"That's short for Calais," the love god said. "Sadly, my brother cannot say words with more than two syllables—"