Chapter 10 - Chapter 10: Stone Gardens

The Greyhound rolled out of Manhattan under a sky the color of dirty dishwater.Percy Jackson pressed his forehead to the cool window, watching the city thin—brick to scrub, graffiti to trees. The bus's old engine rattled beneath his sneakers. Riptide, disguised as a ballpoint pen, sat heavy in his pocket. Every time he shifted, he felt it there, a reminder: demigod, quest, stolen lightning bolt.Across the aisle, Annabeth had a city map folded to a precise square on her lap, a pencil tapping thoughtfully against the paper. She seemed to be trying to memorize every road out of habit. Grover was two rows up, nervously nibbling the rim of a soda can like it was a bagel.Cynthia sat a seat behind Percy, on the other side of the aisle, angled so she could see most of the bus without turning her head too far. Her winged sneakers were, for once, planted firmly on the floor, laces double-knotted. She'd knelt down in the bus station earlier to tie them, dark hair falling around her face, and had muttered to Grover, "No flying in here. I don't wanna ping every monster between here and L.A."Now she watched the aisle, fingers idly toying with the handle of a knife tucked safely out of sight between her and the window. Her eyes—deep, dark, always a little too alert—picked up everything: the man in the front who hadn't blinked in a while, the woman in the denim jacket who kept giving them too-long looks, the way the driver's shoulders were just a little too stiff.She wasn't paranoid. She was used to buses. Foster homes meant moving. Moving meant transport. Transport meant strangers. Her instincts, honed by both the mortal world and two years of monsters, told her this bus was a powder keg.The only one who seemed even remotely relaxed was Mr. Brunner's replacement… except he wasn't here, Cynthia reminded herself. That was Chiron, far behind them at camp. Out here it was just the four of them, a dozen mortals, and whatever might have followed.The bus darkened as the clouds thickened. Percy glanced up, uneasy. "Weather's doing the Zeus thing again.""Storm gods," Grover mumbled without turning around. "They're mad."Annabeth's pencil paused. "They'd be madder if they knew exactly which bus we're on," she said quietly. "Can we not talk about Zeus listening in, please?"Cynthia shifted, the leather of the seat squeaking softly. "Then maybe don't say his name out loud on a steel tube with no exits," she murmured.Percy half-turned. "You think they're really tracking us that close?"She shrugged, one shoulder lifting under her worn Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. "They're gods. You'd think they have better things to do. But monsters?" Her mouth tightened. "Monsters always have time."He was about to reply when the bus lurched violently. The lights flickered. Someone near the front yelped."Traffic jam?" Percy asked, fingers tightening around his pen.The driver didn't answer. The old man at the front of the bus stood, shakily, as if to see what was going on—and then his skin rippled like a bad special effect. His shape blurred, melted, and resolved into something tall and gray and leathery with wings.The "old woman" with the knitting bag across the aisle shed her disguise too. Her hair burned into a mane of snakes. A third passenger in the back erupted in fire and wings.Furies. Three of them.Percy shot to his feet. The bus filled with screaming. Mortals saw… something, but the Mist blurred the details: shadow, panic, the sense that this was a robbery, maybe, or a bomb scare. To the four demigods, the shapes were crystal clear."Out of the aisle!" Cynthia snapped, years of Chiron's drills kicking in. She grabbed the seatback, swung herself into the narrow space by the window, and in the same motion had a knife in her hand.Annabeth had already moved, sliding into a crouch, pulling a Yankees cap from her pocket. Grover fumbled for his reed pipe."Jackson," hissed the Fury nearest Percy, her yellow eyes gleaming. "Surrender. Lord Hades is generous to those who obey.""No, thanks," Percy said, his voice coming out braver than he felt. He clicked his pen. Riptide, bronze and deadly, sprang to life in his hand. It felt right there—heavy but balanced, humming with a power that matched the storm rattling the bus roof.The first Fury lunged, claws extended.Percy ducked, brought his sword up, and blocked on instinct. He might not have had years of formal training, but everything he'd done at camp—the sparring with Luke, the drills with Cynthia, the lunges and parries under the hot summer sun—came back in a rush. He stepped in, turned, and slashed. His blade passed through leathery wing. Black dust exploded; the Fury shrieked and recoiled."Watch the mortals!" Grover bleated, diving to drag a screaming woman toward the floor."On it!" Cynthia called back.One of the other Furies turned toward the back—toward the cluster of passengers cowering in their seats. Cynthia kicked off, letting the sneakers lift her just enough to clear the armrests. She landed in the aisle in front of the monster, knees bent, knife up.The Fury smiled horribly. "Little stray. You smell of nights and alleys. Easy prey."Cynthia swallowed, throat dry, but she met the creature's gaze. "You talk too much," she said, and when the Fury swiped, Cynthia wasn't there. She slipped inside its reach like she was sparring Luke in the arena, ducked under a wing, and slashed up. Her knife met sinew and shadow. The Fury shrieked.Annabeth's cap vanished over her head; she disappeared entirely. A second later, something invisible kicked the third Fury square in the back of the knees. It stumbled. Percy seized the opening, brought Riptide down in a clean, practiced arc that surprised even him.Another explosion of dust.The last Fury fluttered toward the front, screeching, wings buffeting the aisle. Cynthia felt the bus sway alarmingly; somewhere, the driver shouted. Grover played a shrill note on his pipe, and for a moment, the monster's movements became sluggish, as if its limbs were stuck in invisible molasses."Now!" Grover wheezed.Percy and Cynthia moved at the same time. He thrust with the sword. She brought her knife down in a slicing motion across the creature's halfway-there neck.Blackness erupted, and suddenly there was nothing left but drifting ash and three very shaken demigods.The bus shuddered again. Smoke billowed from the front. "We need to get off," Annabeth said, reappearing, eyes wide."Everybody out!" the driver finally screamed, opening the side door. Mortals stampeded, pushing past one another in blind panic.The four of them stumbled after the crush, coughing as the bus began to spark.They hadn't made it twenty yards down the roadside before the thing blew. The shockwave knocked Cynthia onto her knees. Heat washed over them; shards of metal clanged onto the asphalt."Well," Percy panted, staring at the burning bus. "That went well."Annabeth gave him a look. "We're on foot. With no money. And the Kindly Ones know we're heading west."Grover moaned. "This is bad, Percy."Cynthia picked herself up, dusting ash off her jeans. Her heart was racing, breath coming quick, but she steadied it the way she had in the arena. She slipped her knife back up her sleeve. "Could be worse," she said. "We could be still on the bus."Percy snorted, despite everything. "You're weird, you know that?""Yeah," she said. "I've been told."They walked.Hours bled together: trucks roaring by, heat rising off the road in waves, the four of them shrinking against the guardrail whenever a car veered too close. The storm that had chased them out of New York drifted east, leaving behind a blazing sun and a humidity that stuck their shirts to their backs.By late afternoon, they were sunburnt, thirsty, and frayed.When the billboard loomed up ahead, promising "AUNTY EM'S GARDEN GNOME EMPORIUM – EXIT 17!" with a smiling woman in a headscarf and rows of happy stone statues, it seemed—at least to two of them—like divine intervention."Food," Grover said, voice reverent."Shade," Annabeth added, eyeing the painted trees. Her eyes narrowed a little, but tiredness dulled their edge.Percy stared up at the cartoon smiling face. "Looks… okay."Cynthia didn't say anything right away. The pictures of the statues made her stomach twist—their faces a little too detailed, their poses too lifelike. Instinct whispered, Trap. But so did half the things on this quest so far."We're drained," she said finally. "We go in, we keep our guard up, and we don't split up. Deal?"Annabeth nodded. "Deal."The emporium sat just off a quiet exit: a low, warehouse-like building with faded paint and a parking lot half-eaten by weeds. Rows of stone gnomes grinned up from display tables outside: chubby gardeners, fishermen, grinning clowns.Up close, Cynthia noticed something else: mixed in with the gnomes were other figures. A man shielding his face. A girl with her hands outstretched. The expressions weren't cheerful. They looked like they'd been frozen mid-scream.Her fingers found the hilt of her knife.The front door creaked as they pushed it open. A little bell jingled overhead. The air inside was cooler, smelling of dust and something faintly metallic."Aunty Em?" Grover called hopefully."Coming, coming, my dears," a voice purred from deeper within. It was smooth and warm, like honey poured over gravel.The woman who emerged wore a long black dress and a headscarf that wrapped around her hair and forehead, shadowing her features. Big dark sunglasses covered half her face. Her smile was wide, a little too wide, but her voice oozed sympathy."Oh, you poor children," she cooed. "Out in the sun all day? You must be starving. Come, sit. Aunty Em will make you something to eat."Percy hesitated. His stomach growled loudly. "That… would be awesome," he admitted.Annabeth's hand brushed his arm in warning, but Aunty Em was already bustling toward the back, pushing aside a bead curtain. "Please, please. I get so few visitors. You must tell me all about your journey."Cynthia's eyes swept the room. More statues. People, not gnomes. A man reaching out. A woman clutching a toddler. A dog mid-leap. The detail made her skin crawl. Her instincts, dulled by hunger and exhaustion, screamed now. She stepped closer to Annabeth, voice low."Weird statues," she murmured. "Too real."Annabeth's jaw tightened. She was looking too. "Yeah," she breathed. "Very."Grover's nose wrinkled. "Do you… smell that?" he asked."Smell what?" Percy said."Like… snakes," Grover said miserably.Cynthia's grip on her knife tightened.Aunty Em led them to a back room with a long table. Plates were already set—cheese sandwiches, chips, cold lemonade that sweated condensation. The smell made Percy's head swim."Please, eat," Aunty Em said, folding her hands. "You must regain your strength."They sat. Cynthia took the chair closest to the edge of the room, facing the door. She didn't reach for the food right away. Instead, she watched their host.Annabeth, too, hadn't touched her plate. Her eyes were on the woman's headscarf and glasses, her brow furrowed."Where… where did you get all your statues?" Annabeth asked, trying for casual.Aunty Em's smile didn't flicker. "People come and go," she said. "I capture them at their happiest. Isn't that what we all want? To be remembered?"Cynthia felt a chill. Capture them…"Um," Percy said, sandwich half-raised. "They look… really real."Aunty Em turned her head toward him. Behind the glasses, something shifted. "Flattery. You must be an artist, dear. Tell me, have you ever felt… invisible? Like people don't see your true self?"Percy blinked. "Uh… yeah."Cynthia's skin prickled. She'd heard that tone before, back in certain foster homes, from adults who baited kids into telling secrets. The words were different, but the pull was the same.Annabeth's hand shot out, grabbing Percy's wrist. "Don't eat," she whispered. Her voice had gone tight. "Cynthia. Grover. Don't touch anything."Aunty Em's smile thinned. "Such rude children," she said softly. "I only wanted to help. To offer… relief. But I see you've heard stories." Her fingers drifted up, lightly, to the edge of her glasses.Annabeth went very still. Her face drained of color. "Percy," she breathed, barely louder than the hum of the fridge. "It's her.""Who?" Percy whispered back, heart pounding."Medusa," Cynthia said quietly, standing so fast her chair scraped. The statues, the headscarf, the snake-smell—pieces fell into place. "Don't look at her eyes."Aunty Em's laugh was low and bitter. "At least one of you pays attention. Yes. Medusa. Once beautiful. Once blessed. Until your precious gods cursed me for the crime of being loved."Her hands rose. The glasses came off.Percy squeezed his eyes shut on instinct. He heard Grover's strangled yelp, Annabeth's hiss of breath. Cynthia turned her face away, focusing on Medusa's feet, the fall of her dress, anything but her head.He heard the hiss then—dozens, maybe hundreds, of snakes, writhing around her scalp."Look at me," Medusa commanded, voice echoing. "Just a glance. I promise, it will all be over.""Not happening," Percy said, fumbling for Riptide. He uncapped it, the bronze blade humming into his hand.He couldn't swing blind. He needed something reflective. His mind scrambled, grasping at half-remembered myths. Perseus, shield, reflection. He'd never paid this much attention in English class.Annabeth saved him. Something slid across the table—a metal serving tray, dull but reflective enough. "Use this," she hissed. "Don't look straight."Percy grabbed it, raised it like an awkward shield. In its warped surface he saw a distorted version of Medusa: fanged smile, snake hair, eyes blazing green. It was enough.He dropped into the stance Luke had drilled into him—a little sloppy, but feet planted, knees bent. In the blurry tray, Medusa stalked closer.On the other side of the room, Cynthia moved, silent. Her winged shoes lifted her just off the floor, letting her glide sideways behind a row of statues. Knife in her hand, she tracked Medusa's shadow on the ground, matching steps without ever lifting her gaze higher than the monster's waist.She heard the scrape of stone as Grover dragged a statue for cover. Heard Annabeth's quick breaths as she skirted wide, trying to circle."You could have had peace," Medusa crooned. "Instead you choose pain. You demigods are all the same. Tools for gods who throw you away when they're bored.""Guess I take after my dad, then," Percy muttered.He lunged.In the tray, Medusa's reflection twisted. She slashed at him; he felt claws graze his shirt. He swung, but she was faster, sidestepping with inhuman grace. Statues toppled; stone arms broke.Cynthia seized her moment. As Medusa turned toward Percy, snakes hissing in full fury, Cynthia darted in low, striking at the monster's calves. Her knife bit into flesh. Medusa screamed, staggering."Little rat," Medusa spat. "I'll keep you perfect forever. A statue of fear."Cynthia veered away, breath sharp, heart pounding. Don't look. Don't look. She felt stone dust puff against her cheek as another statue shattered near her shoulder.Annabeth shouted, "Percy, behind you!" He dropped, rolled, used the tray as a blind mirror again, tracking the outline of Medusa's writhing snakes. Her reflection loomed, teeth bared.He didn't think. He just swung.Riptide sang through the air, connecting with something solid at neck-height.There was a wet, horrible sound. A thump. The hiss of a hundred snakes going silent at once.For a heartbeat, no one moved.Then Cynthia risked it and cracked one eye open, aiming her gaze at the floor. Medusa's body lay there, black robes crumpled, headless. A few feet away, her head stared sightlessly from the floor, expression frozen in rage, snakes still writhing weakly."Don't look at her," Annabeth snapped, even now. "Not even dead. She can still get you."Grover whimpered. "I think I'm going to be sick."Percy stood frozen, Riptide dripping ichor, chest heaving. "I… I did it?""You did it," Annabeth said, a little breathless. "Nice work, Seaweed Brain."Cynthia exhaled slowly, knife hand trembling. The winged shoes lowered her gently back to the floor. "You weren't bad either," she told Percy quietly. "You listened. You didn't just charge. That was… smart."He managed a weak grin. "Training pays off, I guess."Annabeth grabbed an empty burlap sack from a shelf, edged toward the head with her eyes squeezed shut, and, with a disgusted sound, scooped it inside. She tied the top tight."What are you doing?" Grover asked, aghast."Souvenir," Annabeth said. "The gods like trophies." She glanced around the room at the broken statues, the stone faces mid-scream. Her expression softened. "We should go. This place… it feels wrong."They stepped back into the fading light, squinting. The sun was already sliding down the sky. Long shadows reached across the parking lot.Behind them, Aunty Em's sign beamed cheerfully, oblivious to the battle that had just taken place inside.Percy adjusted his backpack, the burlap sack bumping his shoulder. "So," he said, voice a little shaky but trying for normal. "Bus destroyed, nearly got turned into lawn ornaments, and I decapitated a myth.""Welcome to quest life," Cynthia said. There was no bravado in it, just a tired kind of acceptance, but something in her eyes had shifted. She'd moved flawlessly in that fight—silent, precise, where she needed to be. Unclaimed, maybe, but definitely not unqualified."We keep moving," Annabeth said. Her gaze flicked to the west, where purple and orange smeared the horizon. "L.A. is still a long way away. And this—" she jerked her chin toward the sack—"might be our first bargaining chip."Grover sighed, his shoulders drooping, but he nodded. "No more gnomes. Ever."They walked back to the road, four small figures against the vast, empty stretch of America. The wind kicked up a little dust behind them, wiping out their footprints almost as soon as they were made.Far ahead, the first stars began to prick through the sky. The quest rolled on, and in the quiet between their footsteps Cynthia could feel it: every mile they walked, every monster they fought, the question of her unknown parent pressed harder.But for the moment, with Medusa's lair behind them and her friends at her side, she let herself focus on the next step, the next fight, the next breath.The gods would reveal themselves when they felt like it.Until then, she'd make sure they had something worth revealing.