A/N: I do not own Percy Jackson and The Olimpians… nor My Little Pony. Thank you all for the reviews and sorry for the delay.

It's Confession time! Usually, my confession time was for things I didn't regret doing: like paying a smart kid to do my English homework because I didn't feel like it, selling those cadies in my dorm for incredibly high prices saying they come from Korea when they came form the teacher 's room vending machine or helping Grover in a protest against whatever he came up with about nature (usually, it was about trash). But, this time, I wasn't so proud about it: because I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover was freaking me out, looking at me like I was a dead girl, muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to he sixth grade?"

Whenever he got upset, Grover's bladder acted up (I found out when I caught him eating an aluminum cake I was going to use as a prank to a teacher, he couldn't really explain and I really didn't want to know, but he peed on his pants anyway), so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, then made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside (like a ninja), and caught the first taxi uptown. I'm lucky I got a taxi so soon, but maybe this has something to do with the fact I ran in the middle of the street while waving my arms like crazy and screaming "Taxi!".

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First, " I told the driver with a cheerful smile. I was going home!

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck (I think I have every right to think that this also applies to me, because, well, I'm awesome). Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my dad.

I don't have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures, but she says that I look like a female version of him, so he must be handsome.

See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important (which is a total contradiction to my "Family of Nobodies thing"), and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom told me. Not dead. Lost at sea. Not the Fairy Tal ending I wanted, but he had made mom happy, so I was grateful, even if I had never met him.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid, or, at least, that was all my teachers and some cops told me.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. But I had to say that evening was, since he wasn't polite, I didn't have to be too. Needless to say, that night ended with a very angry Gabe and a very angry and alive lobster (well, I hate sea food anyway, it feels like assassination). When I was young, I nick-named him Smelly Gabe. I'm not really sorry, it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts, so I was very surprised that he could breath while smelling his own stink.

I walked into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. As always, whatever god up there was against me. Smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blared ESPN. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet. I gritted my teeth, mom probably spent a lot of time cleaning the carpet, I know this because I know my mother knew I liked the teal-colored carpet and probably wanted to clean it to me. But Smelly Gabe never had any consideration with these kind of things, anyway.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home. "

"Where's my mom?" I asked, trying to breathe through that smoke. I really hated smoking.

"Working, " he said. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months? Any snot-nosed brats that I should beat up for trying to date my little princess ? Nothing like a father or step-father should act.

Gabe had put on weight. He looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He had about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something. Someone else should tell him he is not Homer Simpson, because I already did. Like, twenty times.

He managed the Electronics Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before, maybe the people there were so happy that he wasn't there anymore that they paid him just to stay away . He just kept on collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer. So much beer that the apartment itself smelled like alcohol all the time. Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "Father-Daughter secret. " Meaning, if I told my mom, he would punch my lights out.

"I don't have any cash," I told him. I did not want to give him my hard-work earned money to him. Does he even know how hard it is to have a secret candy black market in a school dorm?

He raised a greasy eyebrow.

Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which was surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else. I still remember the first time we fought for money, when I found a twenty-dollar bill and we argued until my cute five-year-old self kicked him where the sun doesn't shine and skipped off to buy a doll. I know, I was as lovely as I am now.

"You took a taxi from the bus station, " he said. I jumped, forgetting he was there while I was thinking about my old doll (I named her Aya and she had cute blue eyes and black hair like mine!)" Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, she ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

I growled, noticing the hidden message. He was talking about mom, too, with the last phrase.

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looked at me with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe, " he said. "The kid just got here. " I gave him a weak smile. Eddie always had a soft spot for girls, always helping mom to carry her groceries and buying me some candy.

"Am I right?" Gabe repeated.

Eddie scowled into his bowl of pretzels. The other two guys passed gas in harmony. Really, this way I'm going to end up hating men and being a maiden forever.

"Fine, " I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. Ha, it wasn't even a quarter of what the cab driver gave me. "I hope you lose"

"Your report card came, girly!" he shouted after me, since I was stomping to my room like the angst pre-teen I was . "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I slammed the door to my room, which really wasn't my room. During school months, it was Gabe's "study. " He didn't study anything in there (I'd be surprised if he could actually read) except old car magazines, but he loved shoving my stuff in the closet, leaving his muddy boots on my flowery windowsill (which my mother insisted on doing), and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne and cigars and stale beer. I had always thought he did it because he hated me, now I'm sure.

I dropped my suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home.

Firstly, I piled all the trash in a corner, which I was going to get rid off latter, but right now I was opening the window and getting some water from the bathroom sink, watering the flowers that mom grew for me. I wasn't really into flowers, but those were really pretty and sweet-smelling. The smell of the flowers and breeze that went through my window calmed me down, the fool smell of Gabe leaving the room.

Gabe's smell was almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the creepy sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn. Almost.

But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt weak and suddenly the smell of the flowers was sickly-sweet and the light breeze on my face was freezing me. I remembered Grover's look of panic-how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without him. A sudden chill rolled through me. I felt like someone- something-was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons. And it was going to… Going to…

Then I heard my mom's voice. "Winry?"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears melted away. The flowers were calmingly sweet again and the breeze was cool against my sweat-coated face.

My mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Gabe. Yes, my mom was the perfect definition of a caring Mary-Sue mother, but I would never want her to be any different. She was the only one that could be like that and get away with it.

"Oh, Winry. " She hugged me tight and I reciprocated, tears burning in my eyes. I missed her so much. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas! You look even more beautiful than before!" I never understood this adult fascination with growth being the first thing they notice, but I just smiled anyway. And about the latter, I already knew, but it was good having someone to tell me that.

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform, which I had my nose buried on, smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sat together on the edge of the bed. While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran started to braid my hair, which was something she loved to do. I had always kept my hair short when I was a child, but when I started to grow it last year she became fascinated with brading it. I was never into feminine things, but it was what my mom wanted and I had to say That I looked good with my hair this way, so I couldn't complain.

She was finishing putting a sea-green bow (mom said she brought because the bow reminded her of my eyes and it was a "welcome home" gift) to keep my braid and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little baby princess doing all right? See, Gabe, it wasn't so hard to call me a princess in all my royaltyness.

I was starting to tell her about my Grover's strange acts, the three old ladies and Mrs. Dodds, but it ended up getting out as a strangled sob. I was so scared and the overwhelming feeling of safety my mother brought wasn't helping in keeping my emotions in check. I hugged her tighter, trying to stop crying on her chest. Mom looked surprised, but just hugged me tighter too.

"Dear, what's wrong?" She asked, lifting my face so my watery green eyes could find her baby blue ones.

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally-how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth. Of course, Smelly Gabe had to interrupt my time with mom.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made a new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up again, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit, my devil of a roommate, suddenly didn't seem so bad. I even made a up a slumber party where nearly everyone didn't get hurt. She wouldn't believe me if I said no one got hurt.

Everything was going okay, until that trip to the museum ...

"What?" my mom asked. Her eyes tugged at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. She still hadn't forgotten about my tears. "Did something scare you?"

"I'll tell you later, Mom. I promised."

Yes, I would tell her, when there is no Gabe around. When we are wrapped up in a blanket on the roof (key courtesy of Eddie, of course), when we are trying to see the stars through the city lights. When I feel calmer, so I could tell her in a way I didn't sound like I was going to have a nervous breakdown.

Mom pursed her lips, not liking that I was holding something back from her, but my promise to tell her later seemed to calm her down.

"Well, I have a surprise for you." She said, giving me a warm smile. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Three nights-same cabin. Just the two of us, Winry." I got even happier at hearing "just the two of us".

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed. "

I couldn't believe it. My mom and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money. I wanted to jump all around the room and punch Gabe at the same time. But, the second was no surprise.

Gabe appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

How much time would I spend in the reformatory for killing Gabe? Because I was willing to spend a few just for the pleasure of it. My mom, being the super mind-reader she was, noticed what I was thinking and gave me a stern look. She was offering me something: be nice to him and we can go to the beach.

So I had to be goody-two-shoes Winry again. Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk. Then we would get out of here and I could go back to being the juvenile delinquent I was and that everyone loved so much.

"I was on my way, honey, " she told Gabe. I felt like puking when she called him "honey" and, by the look on my mom's usually kind eyes, she felt like puking, too. "We were just talking about the trip. "

Gabe's eyes got small, making him look even more like the pig he was. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go. It was useless." It always ended up like this, with Gabe complaining about spending money on us.

"Of course he will let us go, " my mom said evenly, the look on her eyes didn't leave room for argument. "Your step-father is just worried about money. That's all. Besides, " she added, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softened a bit. "So this money for your trip ... It comes out of your clothes budget, right?" It wasn't fair! Mom's clothes were getting old already, she shouldn't have to use this money for it!

"Yes, honey, " my mother said.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful. "

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip ... And maybe if the kid apologizes for interrupting my poker game. "

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week. Maybe if I rip off your eyes using a tea spoon.

But my mom's eyes warned me not to make him mad or to get near tea spoons any time soon.

Why did she put up with this guy? I wanted to scream. Why did she care what he thought? Why wouldn't she let me get the tea spoon?

"I'm sorry, " I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now, I'm sure it's better than stay in my insignificant presence. "

Gabe's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement. After some minutes, it was more than clear that he couldn't detect it.

"Yeah, whatever, " he decided.

He went back to his game.

"Thank you, Winry, " my mom said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about... Whatever you've got to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes-the same fear I'd seen in Grover during the bus ride-as if my mom too felt an odd chill in the air. I nodded nonetheless, it was better if she knew what happened anyway.

But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken about the chill. She ran her hand through my carefully made braid and touched the green lace bow and went to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

An hour later we were ready to leave. It wasn't because mom took too much time to make the seven-layer dip, it was because we went in a discussion about if I should or should not take my stuffed Fluttershy or my stuffed Rarity, so I ended up taking my stuffed Twilight Sparkle. It was for the best. But maybe I had too much My Little Pony stuffed ponies.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch me lug my mom's bags to the car. He was polite enough to warn me that I let a bag fall when I fell on my face on the sidewalk. He kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking and more important, his '78 Camaro for the whole weekend. I can feel the love, you know.

"Not a scratch on this car, girly," he warned me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I was twelve, genius. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame me. It's not my fault if seagulls like me and hate Gabe, it's just life.

Watching him lumber back toward the apartment building, I got so mad I did something I can't explain. As Gabe reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Grover make on the bus, a sort of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over my heart, then a shoving movement toward Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the stair-case as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Maybe it was just the wind, or some freak accident with the hinges. Maybe Gabe was really evil and it was attempted exorcise, but I didn't stay long enough to find out.

I got in the Camaro and told my mom to step on it (which is never the right thing to tell mom, because when she steps on it, she steps on it really hard. Hard enough to scare you for life).

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in. And I always got sand on my stuffed ponies too…

I loved the place (I did, my ponies didn't).

We'd been going there since I was a cute little baby. My mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place where she'd met my dad… And where it sells the best shrimp, but I didn't care much about shrimp. No sea food for me.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turned the color of the sea. My mother had always looked beautiful, but right now she looked lovely with that warm smile on her face.

We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, played in the salt water (it would be too cold por normal people, but I loved it anyway),fed blue corn chips to the seagulls (I told you they loved me), and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time, because I was paying more attention to my doll, Aya, than them. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This, along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like me. But, really, I can't even condone that any woman might ever want to be called Mrs. Ugliano.

When it got dark, we made a fire. We roasted hot dogs (no, they weren't blue, I have never eaten blue hot dogs… Yet) and marshmallows. Mom told me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop. My mother was going to be a wonderful writer one day, with the day she talked about her plots, how she described each character and put all her soul in the story. It was wonderful.

Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what was always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk-my father. Mom's eyes went all misty. I figured she would tell me the same things she always did, but I never got tired of hearing them. It was everything I had from dad…

"He was kind, Winry, " she said and I smiled. I loved hearing about father's personality. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes. " There she goes again, telling me I'm a female version of father.

Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, dear. He would be so proud. "

I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive girl with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years. But maybe it was something about fathers, that they always love their daughters, it doesn't matter how they are. That's what I've been trying to convince myself about.

"How old was I?" I asked. "I mean ... When he left?"

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Winry. Right here at this beach. This cabin. " She pointed ate the old cabin and looked at it with loving eyes. Maybe that's how she looked at my father.

"But... He knew me as a baby. "I managed to say.

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but he never saw you. He had to leave before you were born. "

I tried to square that with the fact that I seemed to remember ... Something about my father. A warm glow. A smile. Something that reminded me that I ever had a father, at least.

I had always assumed he knew me as a baby. My mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen me ... I have nothing.

I felt angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry my mom. He'd left us, and now we were stuck with Smelly Gabe. But no one could blame me, a normal twelve-year-old girl for wanting her father, wanting him to be here with me and mom, ruffling my hair, helping me in fishing, asking me what I wanted for my birthday, arguing with mom if I ever had a boyfriend, scaring said boyfriend off... You know, the usual a father should do. I wanted it too.

"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked her, fearing the answer. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey. " Her voice was heavy and her face was grim. "I think ... I think we'll have to do something. "

"Because you don't want me around?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out.

My mom's eyes welled with tears. She took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Winry, no. I-I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away, my little baby. "She looked as if she was about to cry, so I hugged her, burying my face on her neck.

Her words reminded me of what Mr. Brunner had said-that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal, " I whispered, but mom hear me anyway.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Winry. But you don't realize how important you are. How special you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe. "

"Safe from what, mom?"

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me-all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget. Somehow, my mind was always reminded of the worst things, maybe because there were barely any good things to remember about.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed me when I told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head. Ah, my first visit to the school psychologist.

Before that-a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands. I was so cute back than, I wished mom had taken a photo of me and Snaky.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move. I felt like someone in the Witness Protection Program, because I was never safe. It didn't matter where I went.

I knew I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I couldn't make myself tell her. I would let her talk what she had to talk first and then I would say what happened. I knew my news would change something, so I was trying to delay it.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom said and something in my chest ached in seeing her in pain. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Winry - the place your father wanted to send you. And I just... I just can't stand to do it. I'm selfish enough no keep you by my side."

"My father wanted me to go to a special school?"

"Not a school, " she said softly. "A summer camp. "

My head was spinning. Why would my dad-who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me born- talk to my mom about a summer camp? And if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before? What was mom hiding?

"I'm sorry, Winry, " she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I-I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good. "

"For good? But if it's only a summer camp ... "

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry. I sighed and changed the subject to a funny story between Grover, I and an aluminum cake. The mood got so light then, that I forgot what I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodd sans the old ladies.

That was a mistake. A big mistake.

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle (I personally like the horse better), were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder. I frowned ate the chuckle. It was so creepy and dark, that it scared me.

I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's .

I looked with wide eyes, and I screamed, No!

I woke with a start. My heart was pudding from the weird dream. Maybe I had too much blueberry ice cream before going to sleep.

Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom woke up. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane. "

I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten it (congratulation, ocean). Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end and made me hug mom tighter, barely noticing her strange expression.

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice, someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door. I winced, the voice was familiar.

My mother sprang out of bed in her blue nightgown that was exactly like mine and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't... He wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror-not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Winry, " she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing. My brain was slow, not processing everything correctly.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly (and the words he said weren't pretty). I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on (and, after I got over the shock of him being without pants in front of a maiden, I noticed the really strange part) -and where his legs should be ... Where his legs should be ...

My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Winry Hestia Jackson. Tell me now!" I winced at the use of my full name,

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket and my stuffed Twilight Sparkle (this one was probably only to calm me down or to have something to hold), and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro-but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves. ..

… Yep, too much blueberry ice cream.