Where You Go ― Jason Grace

ix. no honor among thieves

THERE WAS A TIME Ophelia enjoyed hiking. Plenty of her early hang-outs with Jason included hiking—of course, they were usually hiking to scout the Titans' growing territory at Mount Tam or hunt some pesky monster who kept eating questers. But she still came to love the fresh air and peaceful sounds of nature. Hiking had been a nice reprieve from everyday camp life. 

But this hike sucked ass.  

She walked behind Hazel so she could catch her if she fell. The fluttering wings on her shoes gave her a little bit of a confidence boost, but the drop down was still terrifying.

In front of her, Hazel nearly slipped, sending a spray of gravel over the edge. Gale the polecat squeaked in alarm. 

"You okay?" Ophelia asked. 

"Yes." Hazel didn't sound very convincing. "Fine." 

Ophelia glanced up. She couldn't see the stupid thief from here, but she knew he was waiting. Ophelia didn't doubt that Hazel could summon enough gems and gold to impress even the greediest of robbers. 

Gale jumped off Hazel's shoulder and scampered ahead. She glanced back and barked eagerly.

"Going as fast as I can," Hazel muttered.

"So, this controlling the Mist stuff," Ophelia said. "How's it going?" 

Hazel hesitated. "Badly," she admitted sheepishly.

"You'll get it," Ophelia told her. 

"How can you be sure?" Hazel asked. 

Ophelia shrugged, though Hazel couldn't see. "I just am," she said. "My grandmother wouldn't have picked you if she didn't believe you had power. She doesn't like wasting her time—she must see a lot of potential in you." 

Hazel didn't respond. Maybe she was trying to believe Ophelia's confidence in her, or maybe she just didn't have anything to say. 

They finally reached the top, breathless and sweaty. A long sloping valley marched inland, dotted with scraggly olive trees and limestone boulders. No signs of civilization. 

Gale seemed anxious to explore. The weasel barked and farted and scampered into the nearest bushes. Far below, the Argo II looked like a toy boat in the channel. Ophelia could never understand how anyone could shoot an arrow accurately from this high up, accounting for the wind and the glare of the sun off the water. It seemed like an impossible shot. 

At the mouth of the inlet, the massive shape of the turtle's shell glinted like burnished coin.

Ophelia started to say, "Where—?" 

"Here!" said a voice. 

Hazel flinched in surprise. 

Only ten feet away, a man had appeared, a bow and quiver over his shoulder and two old-fashioned flintlock dueling pistols in his hands. He wore high leather breeches, and a pirate-style shirt. His curly black hair looked like a little kid's do and his sparkly green eyes were friendly enough, but a red bandana covered the lower half of his face. 

"Welcome!" the bandit cried, pointing his guns at them. "Your money or your life!" 

Ophelia was almost certain he hadn't been there a second ago. He'd simply materialized, as if he'd stepped out from behind an invisible curtain. 

"Who are you?" Hazel asked. 

The bandit laughed. "Sciron, of course!" 

"Chiron?" Ophelia asked. "Like the centaur?"