Heir Of Shadows {A Percy Jackson Fanfiction}

The Pepsi thief

My strangest cross-country trip started when a scruffy runt stole my Pepsi.

I was chilling in a run-down MacDonald's, relaxing in the warm afternoon sun, when Curly slipped into the seat opposite me. I call him 'Curly' cause he have the curliest afro you can ever imagine. Also, I don't know his real name. I scowled at him, "How did you find me this time?"

"Well, I followed your scent..." he replied miserably, pulling on his stringy goatee.

Geez, if he keep pulling his beard like that, he can seriously save some money on shavers. But the main point is...

"My scent? Dude, are you a dog or something? Cause you can stalk people's Twitter account or follow them wearing a black overcoat, but you really don't trace their scent."

He rose to the jib. This guy must really hate dogs. He sprang up, clenching his fist, trying to look tough - which is hard since he's like 5 feet tall. I stood too, hands balled up, ready to beat the living daylight out of him.

Perhaps its time to knock some sense to his dumbass head, a voice snarled in my head.

A voice?

Yeah. A Voice. Like a person.

Why? I don't know, maybe cause I'm secretly the winner of the annual Host-the-Pazuzu Lottery, or I have DID.

You might think, hey, double personality means two times the brains, right? Nice powers mate!

No. Not cool at all.

It started whispering to me some ten years ago, telling me to scream at passerby and beat up random policemen. It soon became worse, growling and sniveling and threatening me, bringing up memories I tried to throw away, taunting me for my losses, and just being a total dick.

Normally I'll tell it to eat ma pants, or something worse, but today, I felt that it might have a point.

This guy, Curly, have been following me for weeks, trying to get me to follow him to some safe haven, picking fights with homeless tramps to 'protect me' , and generally getting under deep my nerves. I wouldn't mind pounding him to a splat of wimpy pancake.

Yum... I love minced lamb pancakes... The voice smacked its lips.

Lamb Pancakes? I thought. It can be quite clueless sometimes.

Curly seemed to sense our conversation, and reluctantly sit down. "Please Zoey," he begged, scanning the shabby restaurant nervously. "They are very close now. They could find you any moment now. You need to follow me."

Yeah, let's follow the lamb pancake... yum yum...

Shaddup, I told it mentally. I looked Curly in in the face. People always said that my glare can send the toughest bully crying for his mama. That is why I don't always stare into other people's face. He squirmed uneasily in his seat.

"First of all, I can take care of myself. I've been living in the streets since I was eleven. Some make-believe bogeyman ain't scaring me," I said as I turn my graze to a bunch of teenagers strolling by outside the window, chattering and smooching each other shamelessly. Oh yeah, it's the summer holidays again. Yay. Doesn't concern me anyway. "And more importantly, how did you know my name?"