Wildflowers, Percy Jackson ₁

012, pink pony club lalala

CHAPTER TWELVE

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

"Applejack, wake up."

Salt water splashed Sylvie's face. Percy was shaking her shoulder.

"Mean," Sylvie grumbled, trying to wipe her face dry.

In the distance, the sun was setting behind a city skyline. Sylvie could see a beachside highway lined with palm trees, storefronts glowing with red and blue neon, a harbor filled with sailboats and cruise ships.

"Miami, I think," Annabeth spoke up from the hippocampus next to theirs. She was fully healed now.

"The hippocampi are acting funny," Percy analyzed. He was right behind Sylvie. Literally. They were sharing the same hippocampus, and it was finally dawning on Sylvie. She was pretty sure she was going to pass out again.

Whatever. Sylvie was fine.

She was, however, less fine with the realization that Percy was right—the hippocampi had slowed down. They were whinnying and swimming in circles, sniffing the water. They didn't look happy. One of them sneezed.

"This is as far as they'll take us," he continued in realization. "Too many humans. Too much pollution. We'll have to swim to shore on our own."

None of them were very psyched about that, but they thanked Rainbow and his friends for the ride. Tyson cried a little. He unfastened the makeshift saddle pack he'd made, which contained his tool kit and a couple of other things he'd salvaged from the Birmingham wreck. He hugged Rainbow around the neck, gave him a soggy mango he'd picked up on the island, and said good-bye.

Once the hippocampi's white manes disappeared into the sea, they swam for shore. The waves pushed them forward, and in no time, they were back in the mortal world. Sylvie had never been more grateful for anything in her unfortunate life.

They wandered along the cruise line docks, pushing through crowds of people arriving for vacations. Porters of bustled around with carts of luggage. Taxi drivers yelled at each other in Spanish and tried to cut in line for customers. If anybody noticed them—six kids dripping wet and looking like they'd just had a fight with a monster—they didn't let on.

Now that they were back among mortals, Tyson's single eye had blurred from the Mist. Grover had put on a cap and sneakers. Even the Fleece had transformed from a sheepskin to a red-and-gold high school letter jacket with a glittery Omega on the pocket.

Annabeth ran to the nearest newspaper box and checked the date on the Miami Herald. She cursed. "June eighteenth! We've been away from camp ten days!"

"That's impossible!" Sylvie said.

Percy shook his head. "Time travels differently in monstrous places."

"Thalia's tree must be almost dead," Grover wailed. "We have to get the Fleece back tonight."

Clarisse slumped down on the pavement. "How are we supposed to do that?" Her voice trembled. "We're hundred of miles away. No money. No ride. This is just like the Oracle said. It's your fault, Jackson! If you hadn't interfered—"