SEQUAL TO EVERYWHERE EVERYTHING
BOOK TWO OF THREE !!!
Mitchell didn't expect to wake up from a nightmare, only to find himself in a real one. When he finds Percy's bed empty in the middle of the night, he freaks out.
Mitchell will do whatever it tak...
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MITCHELL WAS READY TO BE DEAD. HE HATED a lot of things right now. One being himself, the second still coming in strong at tomatoes.
Jason looked horrible with bony, gnarled fingers, and a sunken and wrinkly looking face. He even had that old-man smell — mothballs and chicken soup. How was that possible? He'd gone from sixteen to seventy-five in a matter of seconds, but the old-man smell happened instantly, like Boom. Congratulations! You stink!
"Almost there." Piper smiled at him. "You're doing great." Easy for her to say. Piper and Annabeth were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path.
Piper's mahogany hair was pinned up in a braided spiral. Silver bracelets adorned her arms. She resembled an ancient statue of her mom, Aphrodite, which Jason found a little intimidating.
Jason glanced uphill. The summit was still a hundred yards above. "Worst idea ever." He leaned against a cedar tree and wiped his forehead. "Hazel's magic is too good. If I have to fight, I'll be useless."
"It won't come to that," Annabeth promised. She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. Her dark hair had been braided cleanly. "We infiltrate the palace," she said. "We get the information we need, and we get out."
Piper set down her amphora, the tall ceramic wine jar in which her sword was hidden. "We can rest for a second. Catch your breath, Jason." From her waist cord hung her cornucopia — the magic horn of plenty. Tucked somewhere in the folds of her dress was her knife, Katoptris. Piper didn't look dangerous, but if the need arose she could dual-wield Celestial bronze blades or shoot her enemies in the face with ripe mangoes.
Annabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon she looked deadly. Her stormy grey eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any threat. If any dude asked Annabeth for a drink, Jason figured she was more likely to kick the guy in the bifurcum.
Mitchell sat down next to her, he was wearing something similar to the girls, but more masculine. He wore a long, white Chiton, which he hated. His muscular arms were bare, and Jason said that he looked like he had been fighting in the military for twenty years. Mitchell's long brown hair was tied back into a man bun, which he also hated. The necklace his father gave him shone in the blinding sun, as well as his ring from his mother. His dagger was strapped to his upper thigh, hidden by his clothing,
Below them, Afales Bay glittered, the water so blue it might've been dyed with food colouring. A few hundred yards offshore, the Argo Il rested at anchor. Its white sails looked no bigger than postage stamps, its ninety oars like toothpicks. Mitchell imagined his friends on deck following his progress, taking turns with Leo's spyglass, trying not to laugh as they watched Grandpa Jason hobble uphill.
