Chapter Text
Petra nibbled on a bit of her saltine, watching through the window from the backseat of her mother’s car as her mother argued vehemently with a satyr, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. The satyr didn’t look to be in a much better state, running a hand through his hair as he sent nervous looks around the area. Petra couldn’t catch most of what was said, only hearing snippets like: hurry up; hell no!; or, her personal favorite, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
After a repeat of Petra’s favorite phrase, her mother, Callie, stomped over to the car, her eyes blazing. Petra watched as her mother opened the door Petra sat next to, pausing to take a deep breath before she spoke to her through gritted teeth.
“Pet, baby, I need you to get out of the car.”
“Okay,” Petra said obligingly, lowering her saltines next to her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Why?”
Callie took another calming breath. “You’ll be staying here for the summer, like I said. Apparently, though,” she said while shooting a glare at the satyr, “I can’t take you to the camp.”
“I told you already,” the satyr, Lyon, shot back, “I don’t make the rules! No mortals can get past the barrier, that’s just how it works. Now we need to hurry before any monsters catch wind of us standing here.”
“You said she would be safe here!”
“Inside the camp border! You’re not helping-“
“And how am I supposed to take your word for it when I can’t even see the camp for myself?”
“We’ve been doing this for generations-“
“I still-“
“Mom,” Petra interjected, sliding out of the car and landing lightly on her toes. She smiled up at Callie, closed-mouth and genuine. “I can walk up there with Lyon. I’ll be fine.”
Callie hesitated, biting her bottom lip and furrowing her brows. “Are you sure, sweetheart? You don’t want me to come as far as I can?”
I think you already are, Petra very politely didn’t say. “I’m sure.”
Even with Petra’s reassurance, Callie sighed out of her nose before patting her daughter down, perhaps a bit too rough. Petra swayed with the impact, amused at how Callie grumbled every time she brushed off a crumb of saltine. When she was satisfied, she gripped Petra’s shoulders tightly and marched back up to Lyon with a glare.
“My baby better come back spotless.”
“Miss-“
“Spotless! I don’t care if I’m allowed there or not; if I get a single word of my daughter in danger you can bet your butt I’m coming up to get her. Are we clear?”
Lyon looked extremely tired and Petra couldn’t blame him after dealing with her mother’s high-strung nerves for the past few days. Without moving and alerting Callie, Petra mouthed widely ‘Just say yes,’ catching Lyon’s eye. The satyr sighed deeply.
“Yes, Miss Callie, your daughter will be back home perfectly fine at the end of the summer, I swear. Now, we seriously need to go if we want to arrive at camp safely.”
Callie sniffed imperiously before nodding, squeezing Petra’s shoulders. Turning her slightly enough to plant a kiss on her forehead, Callie sniffed again, this time from the threat of tears. “Be good and be safe, honey. I’m just a call-“
“There are no phones in camp.”
“I’m just a letter away.”
“I know, Mom,” Petra said with another smile. She gave her mother a brief hug before stepping away. “I need to go now. Bye!”
Callie sniffed one more time before turning back to her car, marching to the driver’s seat and returning the car’s gear to drive. Petra turned to Lyon before her mother had even begun driving, sighing, “Now we can go. Sorry about that.”
Lyon shook his head, his curly hair bouncing with the movement. He looked aged by the time spent with Callie—where he had once looked like a spry nineteen year old with dark brown hair and matching doe eyes, his brows were now furrowed in stress, with purple bags weighing down his eyes. “I get it, but we need to hurry now. Come on,” he said, holding a hand out to Petra to grab.
As soon as she did, Lyon raced forward, bringing Petra along as he clutched her hand tightly. She stumbled with a yelp before catching her stride, running as quickly as her tiny legs could allow.
Lyon, it seemed, had been deathly serious about getting to Camp Half-Blood.
When Petra had been little, going to Camp Half-Blood had been her dream. A world where gods existed? Where she could have powers? Where kids could go to a camp and be with other children similar to them for the entire summer? Or even a year? Sign her up!
(It was imperative to know that this dream had existed for as long as the Percy Jackson book series did, and was not so much fun now, living through it.)
Petra thought back to the day Lyon showed up at her door while she waited in the Big House, her legs swaying on one of the couches on the main floor as Lyon went to fetch Chiron. It had been completely normal: she was out of school for the summer, entertaining herself by watching TV while waiting for Callie to get back from work.
She hadn’t had supervision, the same way she hadn’t for the past two years. Callie had been pretty stripped for cash, providing as a single mother while working as a prop technician in their town’s local theater. When Petra had been deemed mature enough, Callie simply told her to never open the door to anyone while leaving her recipes for meals to make herself during the day, along with the occasional snack. Now, had Petra actually been an eight year old then, she probably would’ve been left off in a worse state, having her only guardian away for most of the day and taking care of herself.
But she wasn’t a normal eight year old. She had been reborn and put into Petra, daughter of Calliope Brooks, who had gotten pregnant right out of college after a one night stand and decided to keep the baby. A choice Petra normally would’ve grimaced at in her first life, but she would give her new mother some grace.
Regardless, Petra had been happily watching some children’s cartoons (which really were good, she couldn’t be judged!) before someone knocked on the door. Taking Callie’s advice, Petra ignored the noise. She lowered the TV volume, annoyed that she had to pretend as though she didn’t exist, but happily lay on her couch.
Then the knocking continued. It would pause for a bit, waiting for a response, before starting up again, even louder. Petra had scowled heavily but hurried to the door—she and her mother lived in an apartment complex and couldn’t risk annoying their neighbors. If whoever was there was adamant for a response, they would get one.
When she opened the door, it was to the sight of a nervous looking man who looked like a college student, wearing a backpack, baggy clothes, and had a crutch bracing one arm. He looked relieved when she opened the door.
“Excuse me-“
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Petra said simply before slamming the door in his face.
Proud of herself, she went to make her way back to her beloved couch when the knocking started up again. With a groan, she went back up to the door, opening it with a deep scowl.
“Listen-“
“You’re a stranger and I’m a kid,” she interjected. “Bye.”
“No, no, wait,” the man said when Petra went to close the door again, bracing a hand against the frame and stopping its movement. She shifted her weight against the door, anxiety rising within her. A strange man that was insistent on speaking to a child was never a good thing.
The man recognized her wariness, raising both hands up and stepping back. “I’ll be quick, I swear,” he rushed out. Petra pursed her lips but didn’t try to close the door again. “You’re Petra, right? Petra Brooks?”
“Yeah…?”
“And your mother is Calliope Brooks?”
“We don't want to buy whatever you’re selling.”
“What? I’m not selling anything, I swear. Is your mother around?”
Petra shifted nervously. She didn't have any idea as to who the man could be, and she didn’t exactly want him potentially calling child protective services on Callie (just because she was fine on her own didn’t mean she wasn’t aware she legally shouldn't have been alone in the first place). Then again, it was probably obvious that Callie had left her alone to begin with…
“No. Not until late.”
The man cursed. “How late?”
Petra shrugged. Sometimes her mother got back at five and had enough time left in the day to cook dinner and spend some time with Petra. Other times she got back as late as ten pm, apologizing profusely as she brought back whatever takeout she had managed to snag and making sure Petra got ready for bed before passing out herself.
“Why? Do you need her?”
“I do.”
She shrugged again. “You’re just gonna have to wait, I guess.”
The man groaned, but Petra wasn’t in the mood to entertain him anymore. She closed the door in his face once more before going back to her spot on the couch. By some miracle, the man didn’t knock on the door again.
…
Later, when Petra had been snug in her pajamas and bed, her mother having arrived at seven-thirty, the knocking on the door came again. Callie went to check on the visitor, and Petra briefly thought about checking to see if it was the same young man from earlier. She refrained, however. He had business with her mother, and she had already dealt with him for long enough.
Sure enough, she heard the young man’s voice from the doorway where she was in her room, happily reading a book Callie had snagged her from her workplace. For a few minutes, she heard only the low murmur of a conversation between the stranger and her mother, when Callie suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
Petra was immediately alarmed. Despite Callie’s younger age when becoming a parent, she had been staunchly against cursing in Petra’s presence, even when she had been an infant (which was an odd experience in and of itself). That she did anything like that now was a definite cause for concern.
She crept out of her bed, thankful the carpet muffled her steps as she snuck to her bedroom doorway. Because of the cramped design of the apartment, she could immediately see Callie from her position, the normally tired woman alert and tense as she spoke to the young man from earlier.
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, but-”
“I know it’s a lot to take in, and it seems crazy,” the man interrupted her, “but it’s true. Petra—she’s got ADHD, right?”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“Too restless? Too eager to move? Sometimes sees things that aren’t there?”
Petra blinked in surprise. Her ADHD diagnosis was nothing special, at least not to her. Shocking that a random man knew about it and most definitely a violation of HIPAA if one of her doctors had given the man such information, but it wasn’t as if she was hiding it. However, Petra hadn’t told anyone but her mother about the strange sights she would sometimes come across in her life—women with scales, men who were too tall and burly, or critters with too many legs. Callie had reassured her that she only had a wild imagination, but despite that, Petra had always been put off by what she saw, and her instincts always screamed at her that the creatures around her weren’t just figments of her imagination.
Callie was similarly shocked into silence.
“She probably also has dyslexia, too. Has she had trouble with her classes? Told she was a problem child?”
Ouch. In the past, Petra hadn’t found school particularly difficult. Slow for her learning style, maybe, but she had always excelled. In her new life, though, school felt even slower, and nothing fully kept her attention. Her teachers were endlessly annoyed with her, especially considering she lived in a small town and couldn’t exactly switch classes or schools easily and have them be rid of her. But how would the stranger know such a thing?
“I don’t know who you are or what you want,” Callie said lowly, and Petra strained to hear her, “but whatever it is, you keep away from my daughter. You’re insane!”
“Listen, please,” the man begged. “I don’t mean you or your daughter any harm, but you have to believe me on this.”
“Believe you?! You call my daughter a, a half-god and expect me to not think you’re crazy?!”
And suddenly, the world flipped on its side. A half-god? A half-blood? Petra felt the urge to laugh. No way. Whoever the man was, he was clearly insane.
Except, as the world flipped, it also began to make sense. Hadn’t she read something similar in her past life? About a boy, who had ADHD and dyslexia like her, who was kicked out of so many schools, who faced countless monsters and threats growing up and was the subject of a great prophecy. His name had been Perseus Jackson, and Petra had practically devoured the books about him while she grew up, and still held a precious love for the series as an adult. She’d been disappointed and confused when trying to find the book series again, sure that she was past the publishing date of the original series.
The next hour had flown by in a haze as the man finally introduced himself as Lyon, coaxing Callie to let him into their apartment so he could properly explain himself. Callie had half-heartedly scolded Petra for eavesdropping before inviting her to her side, listening to Lyon’s speech about the mythological world even as she was still skeptical about it.
“How do you know Petra is a half-blood, though?” Callie cut in eventually, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “You could still just be making this up, or mixed her up with the wrong person.”
Lyon hesitated. “Don’t freak out.”
“Wha-”
He quickly kicked off his shoes. Callie gasped in disgust. “This isn’t your house—put your shoes back on!”
But Petra gaped in shock. Hooves had replaced the spot where his feet were supposed to be, and she was now fully convinced of what Lyon, the satyr, had been saying the whole time.
“You’re just a regular mortal so you can’t see it clearly, but your daughter can. Petra, tell her what you see.”
“Hooves,” she whispered, still in shock. Imagining hooves on a person was one thing, but seeing it up close was another, and not entirely pleasant, either. “Mom, he doesn’t have feet. ”
Lyon nodded solemnly. “Really try to look past the Mist, Calliope. I’m a satyr, not human. We’re meant to serve as the guides of half-bloods. As a satyr, I can smell and detect things on a level mortals can’t—but so can monsters. That’s what I’m here to tell you; your daughter is in danger as a half-blood, and that danger will only increase as she gets older. There’s a safe place for half-bloods like her, a camp, where she can train to protect herself against any mythological threats, but we need to get her there now. If I could find her while she’s young and ignorant, so can any monster.”
Callie was silent, wide-eyed when she finally registered what Petra had seen through the Mist. Petra shared a glance with Lyon, anxiously awaiting her answer.
“...and,” she finally breathed, clutching Petra close to her chest, “where, exactly, is this camp?”
“...Long Island, New York.”
Petra winced. Living as a half-blood in the Percy Jackson series meant that Camp Half-Blood truly was the safest place for her, at least as a Greek half-blood. However, considering she and her mother currently lived in Colorado…
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
…
And so had gone the introduction of the mythological world to Callie and Petra, with Lyon serving as their helpful guide. They’d spent the last few days on the road, where Lyon had pestered Callie with questions for a clue as to who Petra’s godly parent could be.
(“Just call me Callie, I don’t go by Calliope. It’s stuffy,” Callie said. “And as I’ve said, I have no idea who Pet’s father could be. I was dumb in college and celebrated passing my finals. I hook—I met her father at a party.”
“But you can’t recall any distinguishing features? Hair color, eye color, anything?”
“No! I was… that is… sobriety was not a common quality at that party-”
“You were drunk, Mom?” Petra asked, delighting in Callie’s look of despair.
“Good god, I’m a terrible mother. How do you know what drunk means?”)
Petra was shocked out of her memories as the sound of hooves on wood came near, followed by the sound of metal squeaking. She stood from the couch when she recognized Lyon’s face as he walked into the room she was in, peering curiously at the man who appeared behind him. He had kind eyes set in an age-worn face, decorated with bushy eyebrows and a thick beard. He wore a tweed jacket over a sweater-shirt combination that looked fit for a history teacher, with the lower half of his body covered by a blanket as he entered the room with his wheelchair.
Petra was overcome with awe. Chiron, the teacher of heroes, in the flesh!
“Miss Petra Brooks?” he asked kindly, and she nodded fervently. He smiled gently at her. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Lyon told me your journey went well?”
“Perfectly boring!” she said with pride, making Lyon choke in shock. Chiron’s smile grew bigger.
“Good, good. It’s a relief to know you were safe coming here, I know Lyon and your mother were worried. My name is Chiron, and I’m the activities director here at Camp Half-Blood. Do you have any questions for me?”
“So many!” she gasped with excitement. Lyon groaned into his hand, aware of her curiosity after dealing with it for days on the road with no escape. “What do you mean by activities? I saw people shooting with bows out there—can I do that, too? Do you know who my father is? Lyon said I might have some of his features but that he can’t be sure. Why are there twelve cabins outside when there are more than twelve gods? Why are strawberries your main form of income? Do you have pegasi here? Can I pet them?”
Chiron blinked at her barrage of questions. “How old are you, my dear?”
“I’m ten. I turn eleven in February.”
“I see. Well, Petra, I’ll be sure to answer as many of your questions about camp on your tour, but I’d like you to meet someone before we do so.”
Lyon shot Chiron a questioning look, making Petra nervous. She didn’t think her questions were too odd for a newcomer, and she’d made sure to act like a completely oblivious child. Who could Chiron want her to meet that was out of the routine for a new demigod?
Chiron ignored their confusion, wheeling back where he had entered and beckoning Petra with a smile. She scurried after him, nervous as they walked around the Big House. Frames of heroes hung on all the walls, action shots of their most famous moments enshrined. Petra scanned every painting she could, admiring the colors and the fact that most of those heroes had been trained by the man guiding her. Eventually, they ended up in a room overlooking the deck of the Big House, with large windows letting in sunlight while offering a view of the lake a mile away.
The room itself was rather plain, with a large roundtable near the windows made of beautiful dark wood. Gauzy curtains hung near the windows, casting shadows on the chairs of the table. What was the most surprising part of the room was a man sitting nearest to the windows, where he would’ve been the center of attention had there been others seated. He wore a leopard printed Hawaiian shirt, shuffling a deck of cards with an expression of boredom as a can of diet coke sat next to him. Dark hair that almost looked violet in the sunlight fell to his shoulders, the curls looking frayed at the ends.
He had a matching beard that covered most of his lower face, even wilder than Chiron’s. His looks overall could be compared as grouchy, with a wrinkled, red nose and watery blue eyes that were similarly red-rimmed. He glanced over at Petra as she walked in with Chiron, his gaze lasting no longer than a second before he looked at Chiron in boredom.
“Why is there a child here? You’re late to our game and you decide to bring in a child?”
Wow. Petra couldn't say she had been expecting a warm welcome from Dionysus of all gods, but not being granted even a direct acknowledgement gave her a sort of bitter taste on her tongue.
“I said I would be right back,” Chiron replied lightly, wheeling up next to the god. He beckoned Petra over once more, smiling in encouragement when she hesitated by the doorway. Lyon, who had been silent the entire walk to the room, gently pushed her toward the immortal pair. She shot him an exasperated glance, to which he dodged with slight amusement, but complied, making her way across the room and stopping just short of reaching the camp directors.
“This is one of our new recruits, Petra Brooks. Say hello, Petra.”
“Hello,” she intoned softly.
Dionysus snorted. Chiron graciously ignored it.
“This is Mr. D, our camp director. Do you have any questions for him?”
Petra analyzed him with a critical eye, Dionysus staring back at her boredly. She technically wasn’t supposed to know who he was, as Lyon had never directly mentioned him on the drive. Surely, as a child, she could get away with some impudence…?
“What does Mr. D stand for? If Chiron is the activities director while being the teacher of Hercules, then who are you?”
Thunder rumbled in the sky while the room itself was filled with silence. Behind her, Lyon hit his face with both his palms.
“You’ll find it’s Heracles, here,” Chiron interjected while Dionysus’s expression changed from boredom to a mixture of unimpressed and affronted. “Hercules is the name the Romans granted him. And it would also be best to refrain from using the names of gods and monsters as much as possible. Names have power.”
“Oh.”
“As for who Mr. D is-”
“You would know me best as Dionysus, girl.”
Petra blinked quickly, mouth slightly agape as Dionysus sat straighter—but not too straight—in his seat. It seemed as though she had probably reached the limit of impudence with the god in front of her. Still- “The god of wine?”
“And ecstasy. Theater,” he intoned like Petra had before pausing dramatically. “Madness.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“Mm.” Dionysus hummed before slouching once more, rolling his eyes as he shuffled his deck of cards. “Now, Chiron, I believe we had a game to get to.”
“Not just yet,” Chiron admonished, to which even Petra side-eyed him alongside Lyon. “One last thing, old friend, and then we can send Petra off for her tour.”
Dionysus sighed. “What is it.”
“Is there nothing else you’d like to say to Miss Petra?”
“No,” he deadpanned. Petra’s eyes shot between the directors as they spoke, feeling an odd sense of tension rising within the room.
“Nothing at all? Not even about her father?”
Lyon breathed in sharply through his nose while Petra frowned in confusion. Was Chiron implying that Dionysus knew exactly who her father was?
Dionysus, however, was silent, meeting Chiron’s gaze steadily. “Why do you ask?”
Chiron huffed, the sound seeming somewhat victorious. Petra felt as though she was missing something very big right in front of her face. “She has very peculiar eyes, does she not?”
Lyon coughed violently.
Petra frowned, resisting the urge to touch the space under her eyelids. She’d gotten most of her features from Callie: tanned skin that stayed so even in winter, with light ash brown hair that curled every which way whenever it was humid. Her eyes were the only features she hadn’t gotten as a mirror image of her mother, downturned instead of wide and being a dark blue that looked closer to gray than anything else. Around her pupil, though, always lay a ring of an even darker hue.
One that looked… violet…
No. Oh no.
Dionysus was silent as Petra’s mind raced. There was no way. She looked nothing like him! And even though she hadn’t known she was a demigod during her time in this world, she definitely would’ve known if she exhibited strange wine powers, right? Surely, Chiron had to be wrong.
Except, as she peered closely at Dionysus, desperate to notice any resemblance she could've had to him, an undeniable feeling rose within her. It was just like the one she’d had back at her home, when Lyon had argued with her mother and spoken about half-bloods—that feeling of the world flipping beneath her in a way that felt as though it made perfect sense.
She stared deeply into Dionysus’s eyes as he avoided hers. They weren’t the correct shape or color, Dionysus’s eyes being smaller and rounded with a blue that was closer to that of the summer sky.
Except-
Right around his pupil. A ring of color that wasn’t blue, starkly different now that Petra was looking for it. Violet, like grapes, like verbena, the flowers that grew and bloomed for the longest time, longer than any other, in Colorado.
Good gods, Petra had been reborn as a daughter of Dionysus.
“Lyon,” Chiron said, turning to the satyr as Petra stood stock-still. “You said Mr. D sent you to the area around Miss Petra’s home, yes?”
“I… yes, sir.”
“How curious,” Chiron hummed. Dionysus glared at him, still refusing to make eye contact with Petra. She was completely fine with that—she was still reeling from the revelation that she, one: was meeting her father, and two: her father was Dionysus.
“We don’t often get demigods from the western parts of the states. Being sent to such a region really is quite the coincidence-”
“Enough, Chiron. You’ve proven your point.”
“Oh? So you do have something to say to Miss Petra?”
The god of wine (and ecstasy, theater, and madness, Petra thought hysterically) threw out his arms in a shrugging gesture. He finally met her gaze, still looking bored. “Welcome home,” he paused, taking a long sip of his diet coke.
Petra whimpered.
When he was done, he set the coke can down on the table, sighing after a swallow. “Daughter.”
Suddenly, Petra was filled with the urge to strangle her past life’s self. The world of Percy Jackson? Fun? Obviously, she had done too much dreaming about being the daughter of a god like Athena, filled with smarts and strategy, or Hecate, with the power to control magic as she wished. Reality was too disappointing!
And the icing of the cake; Dionysus lazily waved a finger in her direction, the area above Petra’s head suddenly bathed in a purple aura. She knew, intrinsically, that if she were to glance up she would catch the fading symbol of grapes on a vine, a fruity smell invading the room as the symbol left.
She very much wanted to go home now!