Jason Grace: After the Burning Maze

Bad at Goodbyes

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Scarlett coughing. Cursing the fact that she had woken up without me, I quickly rushed to her side and tried to help her. But in-between coughs and spitting out blood, she manages to swat my hand away.

"I need to get used to it," She wheezes,

"No." I insist, "We'll be gone before tonight. This is the last time I'll help you do this."

She chews the idea over in her head before finally nodding slowly.

"One last time," she warns,

"One last time," I promise.

Gently, I help her hold back her hair while she spits out the contents of her stomach. In between the tears and the sobs, we manage to chase away the irony feeling in her mouth.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" I asked as she lays her head on my lap, exhausted. She doesn't say anything, she just hums quietly to herself and drools a little on my pants while I play with a little strand of her hair.

"Jason?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you want to know about how my dad is Apollo?" Ever since we had learned that she was also a demigod (my half-niece even), we had never brought up the subject again. It seemed like one of those red-zones with her, like her mother, her history, and basically anything else to do with her mortal life.

"I assumed if you wanted me to know then you'd tell me."

I couldn't see her face but I could tell she was smiling at the re-enactment of our fight in the judging room so long ago.

"Well, I do. I want you to know." She said, "I found out because I saw my dad twice. Once at my death, once at my engagement-"

"What the actual-"

"Oh yeah," she laughs, "I was engaged. This chap named Phillip-"

"Who taught you to say 'chap'?"

"Who taught you to interrupt a lady?" she turned around and grinned, making my face turn red. For some reason, the longer I lived in the underworld, the more tangible my body became. Over time, I became more and more susceptible to human emotions and physical feelings. After an uncomfortable silence, Scarlett said in a near-whisper, "My dad taught me."

"You talked to him about modern slang?"

"Yeah. He introduced himself as Duke Applosium," she grinned, "He said he was one of the Dukes from Westphalia but I don't remember hearing of him beforehand. Got drunk and started talking about what his plans for the future world were and how I would be a part of trendsetting."

I nodded, not fully being able to empathize with having a father teach me about slang, but nevertheless trying my best to sympathize.

After an hour or so, Rosalie wakes up. Scarlett moves down to the bank to work on the boat and I pick up our little friend. It's still shocking to me to think that both Scarlett and Rosalie are daughters of my half-brother, making them my half-nieces.

Around what I think is noon-time, Rosalie manages to trip face first into a pile of wet mud by the Lethe. Scolding her softly, I picked her up and brought her down to the Acheron. The Lethe is too risky to wash her face in, she could accidentally consume some unwanted memory-wiping water.

As I splash the liquid onto her face, a faint ripple travels from the centre of the river down in front of us. Raising my head upwards to see who the passer-by is, I feel my stomach drop and my heart lurches forward. Grey hair with neat plaits along the side hold a bun tight, an upturned nose, a small frame with a familiar posture stands upright, looking me in the eye. Those eyes.