The screened door slammed shut behind us, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the confines of the Big House. My vision tunneled to a single point of light, the rest of the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of brown and grey. The coppery taste of blood was thick in my mouth. Every muscle in my body screamed for release, for the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.
Grover guided me toward a rickety floral couch, his hooves clopping softly on the wooden floor. "Easy now," he murmured. "Just sit."
My legs buckled, and I would have collapsed if he hadn't caught me. He half-carried me the rest of the way, settling me into a worn-out armchair that smelled of dust and old wine. The fabric scraped against my raw skin, and I bit back a cry.
And through it all, he watched.
Mr. D sat at the pinochle table, a deck of cards fanned out in front of him. He didn't look up. He didn't have to. I could feel his gaze, a heavy, suffocating weight that settled over me the moment I entered the room. He took a slow sip from a can of Diet Coke, and then he did it. He smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the slow, lazy grin of a predator who had just spotted something interesting and helpless in his territory. He said nothing.
"I don't get it," Percy began, pacing like a caged wolf. He gestured wildly with Riptide, still in its sword form. "We heard the alarm, got to the green, and found him. He just... appeared. Said he was in a plane crash."
"A plane crash?" Annabeth's voice was sharp, laced with disbelief. She stood with her arms crossed, her grey eyes fixed on me, dissecting me. "Mortals don't survive plane crashes, and demigods don't fly in them. It's a monster magnet."
"I don't know!" Percy shot back. "But then we asked his age, he said seventeen—"
"Seventeen," Annabeth interrupted, her voice dropping. "After the oath. Impossible."
"And then," Percy continued, his frustration mounting, "he got claimed. Right in front of us. By Poseidon."
The room fell silent.
"Oh, fuck me." Manny's voice was a shriek of pure panic in my skull, a high-pitched static that made my head throb. "Ashton, that's Dionysus. Mr. D is an actual god. Not a demigod, a full-on Olympian. He's looking right through you. He knows you're a mortal!"
My blood ran cold, colder than the ocean water that had nearly claimed me.
"Stay upright, Ashton," Manny commanded, his voice a desperate hiss. "Keep your back straight. Don't slouch. If they think you're critical, they'll try to heal you. Ambrosia. Nectar. It'll incinerate a mortal. Our plan is moot. Stay. Upright."
It was the hardest thing I had ever done. Every instinct screamed at me to curl into a ball, to surrender to the pain. I locked my elbows, forcing my spine against the chair. A fresh wave of agony screamed through my arms, my vision swimming with black spots. Sweat poured down my face, mingling with the blood.
"He needs ambrosia," Grover said, his voice full of concern. "He's barely conscious."
"No," I choked out, the word scraping my throat. "No, I'm... fine."
Annabeth's eyes narrowed. "You don't look fine. Nothing about this makes sense. The age, the crash, the sudden claim... It feels wrong." She stepped closer, her gaze intense. "The symbol on your head... it wasn't like a normal claiming. It was... messy. Forced."
"She's too smart," Manny whimpered. "He's going to let her tear you apart."
I braced myself for Annabeth to unravel the whole lie.
But Mr. D finally spoke.
He sighed, a long, theatrical sound of profound boredom. He finally lifted his eyes from his cards, and his gaze landed on me. The smile was still there, but now it was tinged with a venomous amusement. "Must you analyze everything to death, dear? It's so tiresome."
He waved a dismissive hand at Annabeth. "The boy was claimed. The symbol of Poseidon was on his head. Therefore, he is a son of Poseidon. It's really quite simple." He picked up a card, studied it for a moment, then tossed it onto the discard pile. His eyes flickered over my charred skin and trembling form. "As for healing him," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "look at the state of him. A little fire and a rough swim and he falls apart. Hardly a proper demigod injury, is it? Don't waste the good stuff on him. Go find him some mortal bandages. Let the infirmary handle it."
Annabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the look from Mr. D silenced her. It wasn't a look of anger, but of absolute, divine authority that reminded everyone in the room exactly who he was, and how little their opinions mattered.
"He's right," Percy said slowly, though his expression was still one of utter confusion. "I saw it. A trident."
"See?" Mr. D said, taking another sip of his Diet Coke. His eyes flicked back to me, and the smile widened. It was a look that said, I know. And this is going to be so much more fun than pinochle.