The Daughter of Crossroads (Percy Jackson / HoO)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mouth to mouth resuscitation. 

It couldn't be that hard, could it?

Tilt the head backwards, pinching the nose. Deliver two breaths into the mouth while keeping a tight seal around the lips. Once done, thirty compressions must be applied to the center of the chest to the beat of "Stayin' Alive." Repeat.

I've been over this a million times, but as I lean over this boy's, limp, unmoved body, it becomes impossible to differentiate the thoughts of the latest recipe I had learned from the lyrics of the BeeGees. 

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath as I fold my hands together and placing them on top of his chest. There's no rise and fall that indicates breathing, so this boy, no older than myself, is definitely under cardiac arrest. Damn it all. 

My arms shake as I press into the middle of his rib cage, counting off the number of compressions out loud. I decide to take an inventory of the boy, to remind myself that this isn't a plastic dummy we've used in freshmen year CPR. This is a real person; a person whose heart is no longer beating, thus is no longer living technically. I'm trying to raise the dead. 

Black, disheveled hair. Sullen eyes. Dark clothing. I nearly stop the compressions when I come to realize that his skin is tinged with gray and lacks the glow of life. It had to be the cardiac arrest taking effect. It had to be. Taking my attention away from his complexion, I take a quick glance of his clothing. Underneath a beaten army jacket lies a (big surprise here) black tee with a florescent white skull.

After thirty compressions, I go through the motions of mouth to mouth resuscitation, but pause with uncertainty before I actually give him air from my own lungs. For all I know, he could be a killer zombie playing a prank on an innocent teenager on her way to high school. What does it matter anyway? I mean, I could just leave him for dead. 

I glance around me again to see not another soul sauntering down the sidewalk to get a cup of coffee or a business woman taking long strides in high heels with unwavering confidence. In a world where everything is moving, stillness fell over the streets of Evanston, Illinois.

At this point, I have no choice but to ignore the fact that this all seems like a death trap and do what I need to. 

The first thing I learned in CPR class was that CPR isn't going to bring a person back to life. It's the AED, the two electric pads that shock the heart into beating again, that is actually going to restore life. CPR keeps the blood flowing to the brain and puts oxygen into the system, but it doesn't make the heart work by itself. 

Carefully, I bring my hands above the boy's chest and allow them to hover. 

Although I had discovered my ability months ago, I still find myself fascinated with its very existence. Controlling it is a difficult process that involves more concentration than an ADHD sufferer could ever endure. 

My fingers begin to tingle as light erupts from them, tiny bolts of static bouncing off of one another. One, two, three. 

Makeshift AEDs (otherwise known as my static magic) often made me exhausted out of my mind, making me feel faint and beyond tired. But as I hear the gasping breaths of the boy, I know that it's worth this feeling right now. I fall back into the shadows of a nearby alley before he can notice me. 

It's only now when I see his eyes. They're pure black. 

With some coughs, the boy manages to barely sit up straight. "Where am I?" He frantically looks in every direction, but doesn't catch view of me. "Those damned gorgons must've left me here for dead."