Forgotten memories

The great american pasttime

"You," Annabeth said sharply, her voice like a blade. "What have you done with Daedalus?"

Quintus gave the faintest smile, calm as ever, which only made it worse. "Trust me, my dear," he said, almost gently, "you don't want to meet him."

Christine stepped forward, her eyes flashing with anger. "Look, Mr. Traitor," she growled, practically spitting the words. "We didn't fight a dragon-woman, a three-bodied man, and a psychotic Sphinx just to see your smug face. Now, where is DAEDALUS?"

Quintus descended the stairs slowly, deliberately, his sword hanging loose at his side like it didn't weigh a thing. He wore jeans, boots, and his orange Camp Half-Blood counselor T-shirt—the same shirt that once stood for trust, now feeling like an insult burned into my eyes.

Christine moved closer to me and, without a word, she held my hand, the look in her eyes said everything: be ready. I nodded and tucked it into my pocket, fingers brushing the cold metal of my necklace.

Quintus stopped halfway down, his gaze sweeping over us like we were nothing. "You think I'm an agent of Kronos," he said casually. "That I work for Luke."

"Well, duh," Annabeth shot back, crossing her arms.

"You're an intelligent girl," he said with something like admiration in his tone. "But you're wrong. I work only for myself."

Percy took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Luke mentioned you. Geryon knew about you, too. You've been to his ranch."

"Of course," Quintus said easily. "I've been almost everywhere. Even here."

He strolled right past me, like Percy wasn't even a threat, and stopped at the window. The sunlight poured over him, painting him in gold, but there was nothing bright about the look in his eyes.

"The view changes from day to day," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's always someplace high up. Yesterday... it was a skyscraper overlooking Manhattan. The day before that, a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan. But it always comes back here—to the Garden of the Gods." He gave a small, almost nostalgic smile. "A fitting name, don't you think?"

"You've been here before," I said cautiously, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, yes," he replied without hesitation.

I frowned. "That's... an illusion out there, right? A projection or something?"

Rachel's voice cut softly through the tension. "No," she said, her tone certain. "It's real. We're really in Colorado."

Quintus turned his eyes on her, studying her like a puzzle. "You have clear sight," he said thoughtfully. "You remind me of another mortal girl I once knew. Another princess... who came to grief."

"Enough games," Percy snapped, his grip tightening on Riptide. "What have you done with Daedalus?"

Quintus looked at him then, his expression calm but his eyes... his eyes were old. Ancient.

"My boy," he said slowly, almost kindly, "you need lessons from your friend here on seeing clearly."

He stepped closer, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady as stone:

"I am Daedalus."

***

The funny thing about that revelation wasn't what Quintus said—it was Percy's reaction.

"But... you're not an inventor! You're a swordsman!" Percy blurted out, his voice cracking like he couldn't decide if he was shocked or just annoyed.