Chapter One: No one can defy a prophecy, not even the gods
As the glowing trident, spinning and gleaming in green light, appeared atop of a befuddled Percy Jackson at the end of their capture the flag game, Irene knew that the Great Prophecy had officially begun.
Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, a forbidden child, shall reach sixteen, against all odds. The odds did seem to be stacking against him already, if the hellhound that appeared just moments ago was anything to go by.
And Irene wanted nothing to do with it.
From what she has seen, Percy Jackson will do just fine.
He certainly has a lot of potential; the boy did destroy the Minotaur with his bare hands after all. Besides, Clarisse and her siblings were certainly still grumbling about the toilets incident. Irene had to help Chiron dislodge the stray arrow out of his tail, so she knew archery is definitely not natural for him. However, according to the Stoll brothers, Percy has managed to disarm Luke in sword-fighting class, albeit just once, but nevertheless, it was certainly impressive for someone with no prior training.
So yes, Irene believed that Percy will be fine with what was to come. He had Grover and Annabeth with him, and Irene had yet seen herself in these visions to think that her presence was needed.
Saturday morning, much like every other, found Irene atop the golden roof of Apollo’s cabin, awaiting her father’s chariot. As the sun rose over the lake, a veil of darkness slowly clouded her eyes, signaling the onset of an incoming vision.
An old lady was boarding the bus, draped in a blue velvet dress, white lace gloves, and an orange-knit hat that revealed just enough of her face for Irene to discern her deep black eyes. And it was clear that this woman was no mere mortal. Following closely behind her were two more old ladies in similar fashion, each with gnarled hands, paisley handbags, and velvet dresses.
Triplet demon grandmothers? Most likely.
Two of them casually crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. The act seemed nonchalant, yet it sent shivers down her spine. The message was unmistakable to those who understood: no one can leave. But before she can fully understand what was going on, the vision changed again.
It was dark outside, with thunder rumbling in the distance and rain pouring down heavily. Yet, Irene could see perfectly as Percy, Grover, and Annabeth trudged miserably among the trees, drenched clothes and all. Not far ahead loomed a long, low warehouse, its gate adorned with a neon sign that seemed to read: atnyu mes gderan gomen meprouim. The front lawn was a forest of life-size statues: cement animals, cement children, and even a cement satyr playing the pipe…They were all in different poses and outfits, but the same terrified expressions could be spotted on all of their faces. Flanking the entrance were two cement garden gnomes, their ugly, bearded faces frozen in eternal smiles.
Then the door opened, reveled a tall woman, wearing a long black gown that covered everything but her hands and her eyes, which were veiled behind a curtain of black gauze. Her hands looked old, with coffee-colored and well-manicured nails. She looked elegant.
It was definitely a trap, but it seemed that Grover was the only one who was worried. Irene wanted to shout at the others to turn around and run away from there, but it was as if they were being lured into a trance. In the back of the warehouse, a kitchen counter furnished with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Her three fellow campers were being treated to a feast of unhealthy food, their plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, XXL servings of French fries. A feast of unhealthy delights that Irene had never gotten to try, even before coming to Camp. She was almost jealous. Almost.
It was clear that the lady was fattening them up like pigs for slaughter, yet the others seem oblivious to the danger looming.
Then next thing Irene knew, the lady’s smooth hands had turned gnarly, and her manicured nails has become sharp bronze talons. Her elegant headdress gave way to a pale shimmering face with moving hair. No definitely not hair. Serpent upon serpent was coiling around the woman pale face, ready to strike. As the lady’s piercing, snake-like eyes bore into Irene’s, Irene wondered if it was possible to be turn into stone in her own vision. As Medusa lunged at her with sharp talons, Irene’s vision ended.
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