Forgotten memories

My inner Duck

Jumping out of a window five hundred feet above the ground? Yeah, that's usually not my idea of a good time. Especially when I'm strapped into a pair of bronze wings and flapping my arms like an awkward, oversized duck.

The wind roared past my ears as I plummeted toward the red rock spires below. For a horrifying second, I was absolutely certain I was about to become a greasy demigod-shaped stain on the Garden of the Gods.

"Spread your arms! Keep them extended!" Annabeth's voice cut through the wind from somewhere above me.

The tiny rational part of my brain—which wasn't completely consumed by panic—heard her. Somehow, my arms obeyed. As soon as I spread them out, the wings locked into place, caught the wind, and my descent slowed. Instead of falling like a stone, I started gliding—fast, yeah, but controlled. Like a kite in a dive instead of a wrecking ball.

Experimentally, I flapped once. The wings responded instantly, and suddenly I was arcing upward into the sky, the wind whistling in my ears.

"Yeah!" I couldn't help it—I yelled like a little kid at a theme park. The feeling was... unbelievable. The bronze wings felt like they were a part of me. Every motion, every tilt of my arms sent me soaring, swooping, diving. For a second, I almost forgot about the monsters, the battle, and the fact that everything was literally on fire behind us.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the others spiraling above me—Annabeth, Rachel, Nico, and Christine—bronze glinting in the sunlight. Behind them, thick black smoke poured out of what was left of Daedalus's workshop.

"Land!" Annabeth shouted. Her voice carried just enough panic to make my stomach twist. "These wings won't last forever!"

"How long is forever?" Rachel yelled back.

"I don't wanna find out!" Christine said, which was honestly the most reasonable thing anyone had said all day.

We angled downward, swooping toward the Garden of the Gods. I couldn't resist showing off—I did a full circle around one of the towering red spires and almost gave a pair of rock climbers a heart attack. Then the six of us coasted across the valley, over a winding road, and landed hard on the terrace of the visitor center.

It was late afternoon and the place was practically deserted, which was good. The last thing we needed was tourists freaking out about demigods with wings. We ripped them off as fast as we could. Up close, I saw Annabeth was right—the bronze feathers were already falling out, and the adhesive that held them to our backs was melting like ice cream on a hot day. We stuffed the wings into the nearest trash bin, which felt like tossing away a million drachmas' worth of celestial bronze, but hey—mortal security cameras.

I jogged over to one of those tourist binocular cameras and peered toward the hill where the workshop had been. Nothing. No smoke, no broken windows—just solid rock, like nothing had happened.

"The workshop moved," Annabeth said, frowning. "There's no telling where."

"So... what now?" I asked, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "How do we get back into the Labyrinth?"

Christine followed my gaze toward Pikes Peak, its snowcapped summit glowing in the distance. "Maybe we can't. If Daedalus died... he said his life force was tied to the Labyrinth. The whole thing could've collapsed. Maybe that's how this ends. Maybe Luke's invasion is over."

I wanted to believe that. I really did. But Grover and Tyson were still down there somewhere. And even though Daedalus had done some pretty messed-up things, I couldn't shake the image of him fighting those giants alone, bleeding golden oil instead of blood. That wasn't a good way to go.