Author's note: Hello lovelies! I've been really into Percy Jackson again for the last few months so I've decided to do this - it's my first time writing anything for PJO and I'm really nervous (absolutely terrified) about posting this, so please be gentle. I really hope this is okay.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own

~ Player King; Hamlet (Shakespeare)

Poseidon appeared in the small bedroom in a cloud of sea-spray, the smell of salt instantly spreading through the air. He paused for a moment, his head still spinning with the gravity of the situation now upon him, and he looked around. The room itself was small and unassuming, the light from the mortal streetlights on the road outside illuminating strips of the worn carpet, revealing the nightstand, the half-read book on top of it, and the bed beside it. Poseidon took a moment to watch as Sally Jackson slept on, unaware of his presence, and he smiled sadly at her. He wondered if this young mortal girl, so full of spirit and burdened with clear eyes, truly knew the gravity of what she had agreed to do.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice too low for her mortal ears to pick up. He was sorry for many things, countless things. "Sorry for this life that I've dragged you into." Almost unconsciously, he turned his head to the side, to where a small cot sat innocently in the corner. Poseidon found himself smiling again. "But I cannot be sorry for this."

"I should hope not," came a voice from behind him, a breeze of fresh apples accompanying it. Unconsciously, Poseidon turned to face the owner of the voice, already knowing who he would find there. Over the last few months, he had become familiar with her aura.

The woman behind him seemed to be constantly shifting between faces, an amalgamation of all of the classical beauties of this modern age, as well as those long gone. Her eyes shifted from blue to green to hazel, a never-ending explosion of colour. Her hair, which had been a chestnut-amber colour, shifted to an ashy brown. For once, her face was serious, more serious than Poseidon had ever seen it.

"Aphrodite," he greeted, inclining his head. Aphrodite – or was she Venus? – looked around the room, her eyes softening slightly as they landed on Sally. After a moment, she too turned to look at the cot in the corner. Barely sparing Poseidon a glance, she made her way over to it. Poseidon paused for a moment, then followed her, anticipation thrumming in his chest.

Aphrodite at his side, he carefully looked down into the cot, at the multitude of blankets within. A small face peered back up at him, blinking tiredly for a moment before their eyes settled on Poseidon's face. Poseidon felt his heart stop and start up again – those were his eyes, and Mother Rhea's eyes, eyes like the green of the sea. And on that tiny, precious head, he could see tufts of dark hair, already as messy as his own hair. He could see traces of Aphrodite in the baby's face, as well – in those green, green eyes, the shades seemed to shift like Aphrodite's eyes so often did, like the sea itself.

This was their daughter, tiny and beloved, and with shaking, unworthy hands, he carefully picked her up, tucked her into the crook of his arm.

Aphrodite leant over slightly to look at her, barely breathing. Then slowly, her face uncertain, she raised a hand and gently lowered it towards the baby, her eyes widening when the baby took hold of one of her fingers.

"I don't regret her," she said softly, reluctantly removing her hand after a moment. She turned her gaze to Sally once again, and her eyes turned regretful. "I wish I could give her my blessing, but that would just make your brother take notice."

Poseidon sighed softly, rocking the baby from side to side. Slowly, her eyes slipped closed, and Poseidon felt warmth swell in his chest at the sight again. Ever so slowly, he lowered her back down into the cot again, making sure that she wouldn't be smothered by excess blankets during the night, and he turned his attention to the space above the baby's head. He raised a hand, a light golden glow emanating from his fingertips, and within a second a baby mobile appeared there, adorned with dolphins, doves, hippocampi, and sparrows. It began to gently, slowly spin.

"What did the mortal girl name her?" Aphrodite asked, wringing her hands together. The gesture made her look oddly vulnerable.

"Atalanta," Poseidon admitted after a moment, rubbing a hand along the back of his head. Sally certainly knew of the history of the gods, of the child she was now raising. Aphrodite raised her eyebrows. "She wants her to have a good namesake to aspire to."

"I remember her," Aphrodite mused lightly, tilting her head to the side as she drifted off in thought. "She was a nice girl, even if she was a bit too much like Artemis." There, she briefly pulled a face, somehow managing to make even that look like a graceful motion.

"I have to ask…" Poseidon trailed off uncertainly, unsure of how to proceed with his question. Aphrodite merely gestured towards him, a silent way of telling him to ask away. "Are you Aphrodite or Venus right now?"

Aphrodite smiled, then, her eyes twinkling ever so slightly. She casually pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "I am both, dear nephew." She winked at him, and Poseidon felt himself turn red. "Love is universal, so I am the same no matter which form I take." Her face seemed to shimmer, different to Aphrodite's usual shifting face, and suddenly Poseidon was looking at a slightly older version of her, her aura radiating an undercurrent of something militaristic – Venus. "If I had to choose, though, I would say that I was leaning more towards this form when we…" she trailed off, raising a suggestive eyebrow as she nodded towards Atalanta.

Poseidon went red again, despite the many years on his age, and Venus smirked at him. Her form shimmered again, and her aura calmed down again, a sign that she was back to being Aphrodite. She turned her face back to the cot, momentarily looking like a marble statue in the yellow light. "You and your brothers took that Oath for the prophecy. Do you think she could be the one?"

Poseidon grimaced, a chill going down his spine. He could almost hear the ominous whispers of the Moirai in his head. "I hope not," he said truthfully, looking down at the sleeping baby. "If she is, we have cursed her." Aphrodite didn't say anything, and Poseidon sighed again. Glancing at the sky, he saw the ominous flash of thunder in the distance. "We should go. If we linger, my brother may discover us." Poseidon's face darkened as he thought of all the possible scenarios for that happening. "Her fate is with the Moirai now."

Aphrodite nodded, briefly casting a pained look towards Atalanta. She looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up, her face was steeled in a mask. She inclined her head, and began to glow gold. Within a moment, she was gone in a burst of fresh apple. Poseidon lingered for only another moment, casting one last look back at their daughter, before sighing and vanishing into gold, as well. The only evidence of their presence there was the gently rotating mobile, and the smell of sea salt on the air.

Lana Jackson hated school in all its forms, in all honesty.

At twelve years old, she was already considered a 'problem child' by the vast majority of her teachers, had a short attention span and got distracted easily due to her ADHD, and had trouble reading both from the board and her textbooks due to her dyslexia. She had a string of school expulsions, each more extravagant than the last, and she had a bit of a habit of losing her cool and shouting at her English teacher, Mr Nicoll.

As it was, she was currently enrolled at Yancy Academy, a private boarding school in upstate New York for troubled kids. By that, it actually meant 'for hellish, psychotic demon babies beyond the help of God'. Lana was used to things going wrong around her – there would be weird experiences that the adults would explain away with technicalities, despite the fact that those explanations never made any sense. Yancy, however, really took the cake for making things odd.

It was in May that year that the brewing weirdness reached a boiling point. Lana's class had been taken on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. She didn't know which was less appealing – the museum, or spending at least half an hour in a school bus with the rest of her mentalcase classmates. The only plus to the trip was the fact that it was for Mr Brunner's class, so they were going to be looking at all the history stuff, specifically the old Greek and Roman stuff.

Mr Brunner himself was easily the nicest teacher that Lana had ever had. He was a middle-aged guy with a wheelchair, and always seemed to have a book to hand for every occasion. No matter which frayed, tweed jacket he wore, there always seemed to be the smell of fresh coffee lingering about him. He was a pretty cool teacher that actually made an effort to make his lessons fun – he told jokes in class, let all the kids play games, and liked to put on episodes of different TV shows to help them learn – one that had come up a lot was Horrible Histories, some English show from the BBC. Lana actually liked his class quite a lot, if she was being honest. It was interesting to think of people living so long ago.

Plus, he had a collection of Roman armour and weaponry, so that gained him extra points in Lana's book.

Despite all the points in the trip's favour, Lana was still dreading it. She didn't do well in moving vehicles – it always felt like her stomach was turning to knots, like it was trying to force its way up her throat, if she focused on a word for too long. Then there was her colourful history of field trips from her past schools. Bad things tended to happen to her on them.

Like that one time a former history teacher had taken them to Fort Ticonderoga, a really cool, old fort from before the War of Independence built by the French-Canadians. And so she had a little accident with one of the cannons – it's not like she was actually aiming for the bus. Or the time before that, at yet another school, when the science teacher had deemed Lana's class worthy enough to visit the zoo. Lana still wasn't sure what happened, even three years later, but all she knows is that the penguins escaping and making their way to her was not her fault.

And it's probably best not to mention the incident with the shark tank.

Lana shook her head, taking a deep breath. She was determined to make sure that this trip would be a success. Nothing would make it go to hell, not unplanned swims in shark tanks – not that there would be any shark tanks in a museum, hopefully – and not Nathan Bobofit.

For the entire trip into the city, Lana coped with Nathan Bobofit, an annoying orange-haired, orange-freckled weed of a boy, and his annoying presence, with him throwing bits of his lunch at Grover, her best friend. Every so often, a piece of a tuna sandwich would pelt Grover in the back of his curly-haired head, and Lana's blood would boil just that little bit more.

It didn't help that Grover was a favourite target of the bullies, particularly Nathan. Whilst he was kind of tall – taller than Lana, anyway, which wasn't much of an accomplishment, because everyone was taller than her – he was scrawny, with a penchant for crying when he got stressed or frustrated. On top of all of that, Grover was crippled. With what, Lana wasn't sure – he had never said. All she knew was that he had a note excusing him from PE for life.

Not that it had ever stopped him from racing to be first in line in the refectory on enchilada day, Lana thought with a wry smile.

Another chunk of tuna sandwich hurled towards Grover, impaling and embedding itself in his brown hair. Lana grit her teeth, forcing herself not to look back at Nathan's ferrety little face – he knew that she couldn't do anything, the little twat that he was. The headmaster had already warned her that nothing was to happen on this trip, or it would be on her head, not even something of the mildly entertaining variety.

Plop. Another piece. Lana growled, and started to get up, despite the churning in her stomach.

"I'm going to destroy him," she announced to Grover, voice frank like was talking about picking up her weekly shopping. Grover hastily grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down into her seat.

"It's okay!" he said hurriedly, trying to calm Lana down. His eyes flicked from side to side, and he smiled slightly. "I – uh – like fish."

Lana raised an eyebrow. "You're a vegetarian," she reminded him curtly, and Grover made a vague noise.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, as though that thought hadn't occurred to him until then. Lana just stared at him, until yet another bit of sandwich came flying from the back of the bus. Off track, Lana wondered where on earth all these pieces of sandwich could be coming from. Seriously, it was like Nathan Bobofit had his own sandwich shop set up in the back seats. Then her mind sped back up, and her irritation returned, along with her desire to stand back up. Grover seemed to notice something in her face, because he grabbed her wrist again. "Seriously, calm down! You're on probation as it is! If something goes wrong, you know who they'll blame!"

Lana did know who they'll blame. It didn't mean she had to like it, though. Leaning back in her seat – and sinking slightly further down so the top of her head wasn't exposed to flying sandwich bits – she silently resolved to kick Nathan Bobofit's ass when they got back to Yancy.

Arriving at the museum at long last, everyone piled off the bus, and Mr Brunner and Mrs Dodds, the evil pre-algebra teacher, led everyone to and through the museum. Lana tried not to get distracted by all the things they were passing, but there were so many cool things. They passed so many awesome looking weapons that had Lana turning her head towards – she didn't know exactly what a 'roncone' was, but it looked sweet and she wanted one – and so many old looking things. It honestly kind of annoyed her that most of her classmates – mainly the boys, like Nathan Bobofit, as was typical of them – just ignored it all.

Finally, Mr Brunner led them into another section, and Lana stared in wonder. The entire exhibit had been dedicated to Greek and Roman stuff, with black and orange vases and pottery sitting behind crystal clear glass, little notes underneath them that Lana couldn't read. As Mr Brunner talked, Lana stared at them with wide eyes, at the pictures still so clear even after two thousand, three thousand years. It was insane.

Mr Brunner gestured for the class to gather around a four-metre-tall stone column, apparently called a stele. Lana stared at the sphinx on top of it for a moment whilst Mr Brunner talked, telling the class that the stele was a grave-marker for a girl her age, about the carvings that wrapped around the sides of it. Lana felt a strange twinge in the pit of her chest at the thought of it being a grave-marker, but she didn't know why. Was it because this girl had died so young? She honestly didn't know.

Behind her, Nathan Bobofit and his gang of equally annoying little friends were snorting to themselves. Whenever Lana turned around to glare at them, or to hiss vaguely threatening threats at them, Mrs Dodds would swoop in from the sidelines and give her an evil look, like she was planning the best method of evisceration. Some days, Lana really thought that the Georgian maths teacher was an actual demon.

Nathan muttered something to his friends about one of the naked guys on the stele – Lana was not sure what a naked guy is doing on a grave-marker for a twelve-year-old girl, but it was Ancient Greece, so she would give them the benefit of the doubt – and his little friends snickered again. Lana finally whirled around and all but snarled out, "I am going to kill you, Nathan."

It came out louder than she'd intended it to, and Mr Brunner stopped talking.

"Miss Jackson," he said mildly, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "murder is currently illegal in most of the western world."

Lana shrugged, uncaring about the snickers behind her. The majority of boys were stupid anyway, Grover being the one exception to the rule. "Currently," she repeated breezily.

"Indeed." Mr Brunner pointed at one of the carvings on the stele. "As you can't murder Mr Bobofit yet, can you tell us what this picture represents?"

Lana looked at the carving he was gesturing to and smiled internally. She was glad that she chose to pay attention as much as she could in his classes, which admittedly was made difficult by the fact that a, her attention span was that of a squirrel's hopped up on Red Bull, and b, reading anything just gave her pounding headaches. She recognised the carving.

"That's Kronos eating his kids, yes?"

Mr Brunner nodded, although he clearly expected something more substantial as an answer. "And he did this because…"

"Because he was a paranoid douchenozzle who was the epitome of self-fulfilling prophecies," Lana said bluntly, ignoring the surprised snickering behind her again. "See, when Kronos killed his dad, his dad told him that he'd be overthrown by one of his kids, so to try and stop this happening, he started eating his kids. Rhea hid the last kid and gave Kronos a rock to eat – how does someone mistake a rock for a kid, anyway? – and that kid was Zeus, so Zeus grew up, eventually freed all his siblings, fought the Titans, and cut their dad into pieces. I think he was thrown into Tartarus?"

Mr Brunner nodded approvingly, the twinkle in his eye returning. Before he could say anything, Nathan Bobofit opened his big mouth and asked, "And why do we need to know this, exactly? Knowing why Kronos ate his kids isn't gonna help with job interviews."

Lana narrowed her eyes, but before she could think about turning around and potentially hitting him, Mr Brunner asked, "Ah, an excellent question, Mr Bobofit." He looked at Lana. "To rephrase that, why does this matter in real life?"

"Beyond telling you not to get eaten?" Lana asked dryly, but then thought for a moment. Ultimately, her brain came up with nothing, and she sighed slightly. "I don't know, sir."

Mr Brunner stared at her for another long moment, those ancient brown eyes seeming to bore into her soul. After a moment, he nodded. "I see." He clapped his hands together. "I think that it's time for lunch. Mrs Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

Slowly, the class drifted off, with the girls looking vaguely sick, and the boys acting like general idiots. Nothing much had changed then, Lana thought with a mental roll of her eyes. Lana and Grover were about to follow them when Mr Brunner called Lana's name and asked her to hang back for a moment. Lana made her way back to her teacher.

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

Mr Brunner was staring at her again, the look in his eyes intense. After a moment, he said, "You must learn to answer my question." Lana furrowed her brows. "What you learn from me in this class is vitally important. You must learn how to apply it to real life." His eyes seemed to get more intense, and it took all of Lana's willpower to not flinch or look away. "I will accept only the best from you, Atalanta Jackson."

Lana did flinch then, at the use of her full first name. She mumbled something about trying harder and quickly ducked out of the exhibit, walked through the museum and tried not to get distracted by the cool displays once again. She still really wanted a roncone. Or maybe a cutlass. Yeah, a cutlass would be sweet. Forcibly, she dragged her mind back from its mental off-tracking.

Lana really didn't understand Mr Brunner sometimes. Sure, he was her favourite teacher, although that achievement wasn't a hard one to get – the rest of them before him had either ridiculed her for her dyslexia (or just flat out called her lazy, as was the case with her current sworn enemy, Mr Nicoll), or mocked her for her ADHD. He was the first to do neither of those things, and in fact encouraged her to do well in his class by trying to help her learn when he could. Upon realising that she learnt best with visual and audio sources, he had given her a bunch of things like history podcasts and documentaries to watch and listen to in her dorm room as homework. Plus there was the fact that he had tournament days, where he challenged the kids, at sword point, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person from history. It was kind of cool, but the fact that he expected Lana to be better than everyone else began to grate after a while.

Grover was waiting for her outside, his face anxious. Lana quickly joined him, and they rushed down the steps, bypassing the rest of their class, who were messing around on the bottom steps. She felt an irrational burst of irritation when one of the boys pelted a piece of his sandwich towards a flock of pigeons, but she forced herself to ignore it. If she even tried glaring at them, Mrs Dodds would be there in a flash.

She and Grover ended up settling on the edge of the fountain, away from the rest of the class. For whatever reason, being near water never failed to make Lana feel better, calmer, and she breathed out heavily. Tilted her head up to look at the sky. Far above them, dark stormclouds were gathering together, the clouds far darker than anything she had ever seen before. Honestly, though, the weather had been weird for months.

"Detention?" Grover asked, slowly pulling out his lunch.

Lana shook her head, almost smiling. Grover knew her too well. "Nah," she replied, dipping her hand in the water and unconsciously running her hand through the liquid, watching the ripples from the motion. "Not from him. Although I wish he'd let up sometimes. Sometimes I don't know what I'm supposed to do with him…" She trailed off, sighing slightly.

Grover hummed, taking a bite out of his apple and munching on it. Lana didn't really feel that hungry – okay, she didn't have much of an appetite when travelling, full stop – so she settled for watching the steady stream of cars that passed them by, the pedestrians walking across the zebra crossing, idly dipping her hand in and out of the water. Her mother's apartment was only a short distance away from where she was currently sat, she realised with a longing ache in her chest. As much as she wanted to just get a taxi back home, she wouldn't. Her mother would give her that disappointed look, and Lana would do everything in her power to not disappoint her.

Lana was about to say something to Grover when Nathan Bobofit appeared before them. He dropped his half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap, and smirked widely at them, showing off his crooked teeth.

"Oops," he grinned wider, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Off to the side, all his little friends were laughing away.

Lana's stare became colder as rage began to boil in her veins, white hot and vicious. As much as she tried to calm her temper, even having her hand in the water wasn't helping. In fact, it felt like the water was warming as her temper got closer to its fuse. Her mind went white, a whooshing sound in her ears. The next thing she knew, Nathan Bobofit was lying in the fountain, screeching his head off about Lana having pushed him. Lana resented that – she most certainly had not. She wouldn't dream of going near him, let alone touching him with a stick.

Around them, some of the other kids were whispering amongst themselves. "Did you see the water?" one muttered, pointing at the fountain.

"Yeah. Like it grabbed her," said their friend, glancing at the water apprehensively. Lana glanced down at the water but saw nothing untoward.

Mrs Dodds materialised next to the fountain, her eyes gleaming.

Lana had no idea how she managed to do that. It was like she was just waiting for her to screw up or do something just slightly out of the ordinary. Mrs Dodds ignored Lana for a second, turned to her favourite hellspawn child, Nathan, and made various promises that yes, they would get him a new pair of pants from the museum gift shop (did they even sell pants in the museum gift shop?). Then, she turned to Lana.

"Miss Jackson," she said, her voice gravelly, like she'd been inhaling toxic fumes for fifty years. Which she probably had. She was an evil, hellish bitch whose personality rivalled Mr Nicoll's. "Please follow me."

Lana opened her mouth to protest, because no way. She hadn't done anything wrong, not that she could think of. Not that Mrs Dodds would see it that way, of course, or care about any of that. Insofar as she was concerned, one of her precious hellspawn kids was sitting in the fountain, and, because of course, Lana was the only possible suspect. Lana honestly wondered what happened inside Mrs Dodds's head sometimes.

Grover jumped to his feet, gesticulating wildly. "Wait!" he yelled, his voice only wavering the slightest bit. "I pushed her!"

Mrs Dodds glared at him, the pure malice in her eyes causing Grover to tremble from the force of it. Lana knitted her eyebrows together in sympathy, but at the same time, a warm feeling spread through her chest. The fact that Grover was willing to stand up for her – hell, even try and take her (ahem) unfairly assigned punishment – left her speechless. Grover was absolutely terrified of Mrs Dodds. He really was her best friend.

"No, Mr Underwood," Mrs Dodds said coolly, after a long moment of hateful staring. She turned that glare on Lana, who fought not to take a step backwards. "Now, Miss Jackson."

Faced with no other alternative, Lana stood and began to follow Mrs Dodds, shooting Grover a grateful smile and a shrug. Turning her gaze to the back of Mrs Dodds's head, she glared at the woman, stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her hoodie.

For a moment, a passing pigeon caught her attention, momentarily diverting her gaze, and when she returned her stare back to Mrs Dodds, she was standing at the top of the steps. Mrs Dodds glared down, arms folded and face impatient, like she had been there for hours. Lana blinked, nearly stopping mid-step. That shit wasn't normal. Lana bit her lip, slowly started ascending the museum steps as she mulled things over. Either she had missed something in the second that she'd glanced at the pigeon – although how she could miss her demonic teacher just vanishing in the space of a second, she didn't know. The councillors had always just said that her brain fell asleep – or Mrs Dodds had up and done a magic trick which, okay, fair enough. Why not.

Lana glanced uncertainly back at Grover one last time, took stock of his anxious face, steeled herself, and continued up the steps.

Mrs Dodds had materialised further inside the building, forcing Lana to follow. She had initially thought that the plan was to buy Nathan a new pair of trousers, but when Mrs Dodds led them past the gift shop, that idea went right out the window, and Lana was back to square one and wondering why the hell they were back in the museum. Further and further into the museum they went, back past the familiar exhibits, until finally they were back at the Greek and Roman section.

Lana paused uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably. There was no one else around – the last person she'd seen had been back at some painting of grass – which made her uncomfortable. Mrs Dodds was a short distance in front of her, staring at a frieze of the Greek gods. Now, that would have been fine, normal even, if not for the weird growling noises emitting from her. Lana resisted the urge to back away, forced herself to stand still.

"You've been causing problems for us," she said, finally turning around. Her dark eyes were glinting in the bright overhead lights. "Confess, Atalanta Jackson, and suffer less pain."

Lana blinked. "Huh?" she asked, confused. She couldn't think of anything that she had done recently to warrant a confession. Sure, she hadn't exactly read the book that Mr Nicoll had assigned for his class, but she'd gotten one page into Lord of the Flies before deciding it was a lost cause. And by deciding it was a lost cause, that meant that she got her essay on it from the internet.

Mrs Dodds glared harder. "Well?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"I'm very confused," Lana said honestly, shifting uneasily. She didn't know what to expect in response to that – the usual response tended to be varying degrees of 'stop being lazy'. It didn't quite happen that way.

Instead, Lana watched as Mrs Dodds contorted, her eyes glowing hot red like traffic lights. Her entire body warped, and her fingers became long, twisted talons, and her ever-present leather jacket folded into a pair of leathery wings. Lana let out a noise similar to a quiet squeak, because Mrs Dodds most certainly wasn't a pre-algebra teacher. She was about to start slicing and dicing, starting with Lana.

Before Lana had time to think, Mrs Dodds – Mrs Hag? – let out a terrifying shriek that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Mrs Dodds lunged forwards, and Lana barely managed to dive to the side in time to avoid being sent careening into the wall by Mrs Whatevershewas. A slice of hot air passed by her cheek, almost unbearably hot and Lana knew that if she had come into contact with it, she would absolutely be barbequed.

A flurry of movement from the start of the Greek and Roman section caught her eye, and Lana stared in amazement as Mr Brunner appeared, rolling up in his motorised wheelchair glory. Only a small part of her brain wondered how he'd moved through the museum in less than a minute, when before he'd been sat at the bottom of the steps outside.

"Lana!" She looked towards his yell, and Mr Brunner threw something towards her. It looked like a pen, but when she caught it, it transformed into a gleaming sword. Turning quickly, Lana faced Mrs Screechums.

Mrs Dodds was staring at her with a murderous look in her eye, and Lana swallowed down any fear, forcing the calm to the forefront. She held the sword ready. Her breath came out heavy and laboured. Mrs Dodds opened those gigantic wings, let out another of those horrifying screeches, and lunged forward again, her talons aimed at Lana's throat.

In that moment, time seemed to slow down, and there was a niggling feeling in the back of Lana's head, familiar yet not. Standing there, shaking so badly that the sword nearly slipped from her hands, she let the feeling guide her. Before she could think about what she was doing, Lana started quietly singing Simple Man, the first song that popped into her head.

Mrs Dodds's movements slowed to a stop, and she simply stared at Lana. Her expression seemed to blank, losing all of the rage and malice it had held before. The guiding feeling told Lana to keep singing, so she did, trying to keep her voice from wavering in fear. After a moment, Mrs Dodds's eyes slowly slipped closed.

Not daring to stop in her singing, Lana shakily raised the sword and swung it towards her demon maths teacher. Immediately, she began to crumble into fine yellow dust, the smell of sulphur lingering in the air, the room oddly silent. Lana trembled, and slowly sank to the ground, trying to wrap her mind around it.

In her hand, there was a ballpoint pen. There was no one else there besides her. Lana glanced back to where the powder had been, only to find that it had vanished. She let out a heavy breath, shaking her head. It was too much.

As quickly as she could, she made her way back outside, back down the steps towards the fountain. Nathan Bobofit was still standing there, face sour. Upon seeing Lana approach, he said, "I hope Mrs Kerr wrecked you."

Lana blinked, confused for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. Who was Mrs Kerr? She voiced that question, and Nathan just rolled his eyes and went off with his friends. Lana watched them leave, trying to control the trembling in her hands, and turned to Grover.

"Yo," she greeted, raising a hand in a half-wave. She thought about asking where Mrs Dodds was, but her mind kept flashing back to the sword passing through her neck – the sword that Lana had been holding, had swung. She shivered, hoped that it wasn't visible. She'd also caught a glimpse of yellow dust on her hoodie sleeve when she'd waved at Grover, something that had her stomach churning. Hastily, she shoved her hands back into her pocket.

Thunder boomed overhead, the sky having darkened with the approaching storm she'd seen before. Grover looked up at it nervously, then looked at Lana. "Everything okay with Mrs Kerr?" he asked, tone normal enough. Lana mentally narrowed her eyes. She might have believed that Grover thought Mrs Kerr – whoever that was – was a real person, if not for the fact that he paused.

Lana didn't push the issue. "Yeah." She looked around, and spotted Mr Brunner sitting at the base of the wheelchair ramp, where he'd been sitting before she and Mrs Dodds had gone into the museum. Muttering some excuse to Grover, she quickly made her way over to Mr Brunner, hands still deep in her pockets.

Mr Brunner looked up at her approach, expression distracted. "Yes, Miss Jackson?"

"Sir, where's Mrs Dodds?" Lana asked. She tried to ignore the grainy feel of yellow dust on her hands, balled her hands up into fists.

Instead of a logical, reasonable answer like she'd been expecting, Mr Brunner just stared blankly. "Who?" he asked delicately. Lana repeated her question, with some elaboration, and his expression became concerned. "Lana, there is no Mrs Dodds here. There has never been a Mrs Dodds at Yancy Academy." Lana just stared at him, the thunder overhead booming in her ears, the wind blowing against her face. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

Author's note: So, yeah. I know it's not an ~original~ concept, or whatever - it's just been fun to write because I liked the idea of siren!Percy. And I like fem!Percy. So I combined them. Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts on it so far?