13 Chapter 13

'Dear Alex,

I hope the first time you read or hear this letter, we're both sitting on the sofa in the Richmond house, laughing at my horrible handwriting and spelling mistakes. 

If not, well, I have some things to tell you. I would like to believe either Grover or Gleeson already did me the favour of explaining to you that Greek Mythology is real, but if not… well, your mother is a goddess. Which one… I don't know, she never told me, but the fact that some satyrs recognised your demigod smell shows you're one. 

I know it's hard to process that, all of a sudden, this figure that never gained attention from your life suddenly turns important, but Alex, if you're really reading this all by yourself, your mother will be all you have. And if it helps, for the small duration she was with us after you were born, she showed the love worth of a thousand mothers. 

Now, on the off-case that I'm not present, and you're not with Grover or Gleeson or both, I'll explain some of the items I left you on how they work.

First is the celestial bronze sword they gave me that was intended for you: an Xiphos. You've probably heard that name in one of my ramblings, but if you don't remember, it's a typical sword used in Ancient Greece. With this, you'll be able to defeat the monsters.

Second are actually two things: nectar and ambrosia, the drink and food of the dogs. Apparently, if normal mortals consume any of the two, their blood turns to fire and bones to sand, so I can't tell you if it tastes good or not, but they assured me it did. They can heal your wounds, but be sure not to eat too much!

And third… a stone. Now, it's not just any other stone. That, pipsqueak, is the key to your well-being in your grandparents' house. Your mother… she left a protective ward around the house that will stop any monster from even coming near it when it's activated. But it can only be turned on by you, using that stone. That will be your way in, way out. Don't lose it.

Now, onto the mist…'

Alex folded the letter neatly and stuffed it into his pocket. He had read it so many times in the past month that he almost knew it by heart. Just seeing his dad's chaotic writing helped soothe his heart, even if his eyes strained to understand it.

He looked at the flat rock with the glowing ancient Greek on it that read 'Passage'. Alex was pretty sure he'd never learned Greek, and whenever he remembered that fact, all of a sudden, he couldn't understand it anymore. His dad had explained in the letter it was because of the dyslexia — his brain was hardwired for ancient Greek. And apparently, ADHD was supposed to help him in battle.

Special powers alright.

In the note, his dad had pleaded for him to stay in the house until the satyrs found him, and to only leave in order to buy groceries and whatnot, but Alex still wasn't sure if he wanted to go to this camp, wherever it was, and besides… he had seen something really strange this early in the morning.

A magic owl.

Right, he should probably explain. After waking up earlier than usual and eating breakfast, Alex found the bird perched on top of the fence, looking straight at him. For one hour straight, he and the owl stared at each other in a really long staring competition. He wasn't sure why, but there was definitely something up with it. He was so convinced that he got dressed in some of his gramps's old hunting clothes beneath his varsity jacket, grabbed the backpack with nectar and his sword with the hilt sticking out, and went out after it.

But it wasn't that easy to catch. This owl would pop up at random times, always in the distance. Whenever he tried to catch up to it, the owl would vanish and appear farther away, as if it was leading him somewhere.

Normally, he would've left it alone, but he had a gut feeling that it was important, and after what happened back in New York, he had to learn how to trust it. So he followed the owl.

Early in the morning still, he made it into Richmond. He trudged across a narrow bridge over a lazy green river, past wooded parks and Civil War cemeteries. As he got closer to the centre of town, he navigated through sleepy neighbourhoods of red brick townhouses wedged close together, with white-columned porches and tiny gardens.

Alex imagined all the normal families living in those cosy houses. He wondered if he would ever have something like that again, to know where his next meal was coming from, and not have to worry about getting eaten by monsters every day.

After walking another mile, his feet felt like they were melting inside his boots, but he couldn't just try and fly with people waking up. He hoped he could find a place to get some food. Instead, he found the owl.

The street Alex was following opened up into a big circular park. Stately red brick mansions faced the roundabout. In the middle of the circle, atop a twenty-foot white marble pedestal, was a bronze dude sitting on horseback. Grazing at the base of the monument was the owl.

"Crap!" Alex threw himself behind a row of rosebushes.

Now, he had no idea what this owl was, but it could seemingly teleport, so he was pretty sure it was magical.

He was no expert on nocturnal animals, but the owl did look strange now that he was closer. It had a curlicue-like beak, strange pale blue eyes, and its grey feathers were… glowing? Wisps of light seemed to cling to it like a cloud of neon, making the owl look blurry and ghostly.

A couple of cars looped around the traffic circle, but nobody seemed to notice the radioactive owl. That didn't surprise him. His father explained in the note that the mist was some sort of magical camouflage that kept mortals from seeing the true appearance of monsters and gods. They were probably seeing a stray dog.

Alex lifted from behind the rosebushes and went across the street. He approached the statue. The owl didn't pay him any attention. It scratched under with its beak under its wing, then butted its head against the marble base of the monument.

A bronze plaque read: Robert E. Lee. Alex didn't pay much attention to history, but he was pretty sure Lee was a general who lost a war. That didn't strike him as a good omen.

Alex knelt next to it. "So… what's up?"

That was a weird way to start a conversation with an owl. Wait, owls didn't even speak… but this one was magical, so maybe?

The owl turned. Its sclera was ember, and it had a bronze collar around its neck with the symbol of an olive tree. Fuzzy white light steamed around her body, but what really caught his attention were its claws. Each nail was labelled with Greek letters, like engravings. They read nectar, milk, water, Diet Coke, scratch this one for ice, and Diet Mountain Dew. Or maybe Alex read them wrong. He hoped so.

Alex couldn't resist the urge, so he scratched the one that said Diet Coke; a jet of the beverage came flying from the owl's mouth, soaking his face in the drink.

"Of course…" He grumbled. He looked into the owl's eyes. "So, what do you want? Did anyone send you?"

The owl butted her head against the monument once more. From above came the sound of creaking metal. Alex looked up and saw the bronze General Lee move his right arm.

He jumped back and reached for his sword. He'd never used it, so he'd have to wing it — literally.

Fortunately, the statue didn't attack. It simply pointed across the street.

Across the traffic circle stood a red brick mansion overgrown with ivy. On either side, huge oak trees dripped with Spanish moss. The house's windows were shuttered and dark. Peeling white columns flanked the front porch. The door was painted charcoal black. Even on a bright sunny morning, the place looked gloomy and creepy — like the haunted house from that 90s 'IT' movie.

His mouth felt dry. "You want me to go there?"

"Oot." The owl dipped its head like it was nodding.

The owl began to bother him, and not just because it dispensed Coke products. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but at the same time, it was pulling him there.

Suddenly the mist thickened and swelled around the owl. A miniature storm cloud engulfed her. Lightning flickered through the cloud. When the mist dissolved, the owl was gone.

He hadn't even gotten to try the ice dispenser.

Alex gazed across the street at the dilapidated house. The mossy trees on either side looked like claws, waiting to grasp us.

"You know what? Screw it. Creepy mansion, here I come."

The brass door knocker was shaped like Medusa's face from Grover's cards. The porch floorboards creaked under his feet. The windows' shutters were falling apart, but the glass was grimy and covered on the other side with dark curtains, so he couldn't see in.

Alex knocked.

No answer.

He jiggled the handle, but it seemed to be locked. He was hoping it would stay like this, but all of a sudden, with a familiar click of a lock unlocking, the door swung open.

"Definitely haunted."

The doorway exuded a sour evil smell. High above, a chandelier glowed with trinkets of Celestial bronze — arrowheads, bits of armour, and broken sword hilts — all casting a sickly yellow sheen over the room. Two hallways led off to the left and right. A staircase wrapped around the back wall. Heavy drapes blocked the windows.

The place might've been impressive once, but now it was trashed. The checkerboard marble floor was smeared with mud and crusty dried stuff Alex hoped was just ketchup. In one corner, a sofa had been disembowelled. Several mahogany chairs had been busted to kindling. At the base of the stairs sat a heap of cans, rags, and bones — human-sized bones.

He tightened the grip on his sword.

"Maybe this isn't such a good—"

The door slammed shut behind him.

He lunged at the handle and pulled. No luck. He struck the lock with his weapon, trying to break it, but nothing happened. Not even a scratch.

Alex ran to the nearest window. He tried to part the drapes, but heavy black fabric wrapped around one of his arms.

"Argh!" He screamed.

The curtains liquefied into sheets of oily sludge like giant black tongues. They oozed up his arm, trying to reach his shoulder. It burned.

He swung at the drapes with his sword, and the ooze shuddered and reverted back to fabric long enough for him to pull himself free.

Dragging himself away, the curtains returned to ooze and tried to catch him. They slashed at the air. Fortunately, they seemed anchored to the curtain rods. After a few more failed attempts, the ooze settled down and changed back to drapes.

Alex shivered. His sword lay nearby, smoking as if it had been dipped in acid. He raised his arm. His hand was steaming and blistered, the sleeve having protected the arm. His face paled.

He lowered to the ground and fumbled through his backpack, finally finding a bottle of nectar. He poured it over the wounds. The steam dissipated. The blisters faded.

"If all the windows are like that, and the door is locked…" His voice was shaky from the pain. Where was the sudden healing factor when he needed it?

But the fact was: he was trapped. He was never trusting weird-looking owls ever again.