The Malign Star

PT: ...I need to explain something. I was writing the next chapter to this story—but then my hardware broke down and my laptop was carted off to Chinatown, because all my problems with the computer are solved there. When I got it back—well, you know—my documents were lost forever, everything was up for a fresh start. So there you go. Then I returned to struggling with writer's block, every writer's worst nightmare. But I totally managed to push it away for a while. Read: Now. Thanks to ezyl again for beta-ing :D Love you, Pi~!

Disclaimer: Rick Riordan owns Percy Jackson. Seriously. Even though I'm also a New Yorker.

Summary: "...For a malign star rules over the romance of demigods; crossed are the stars above their heads."

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Full Moon

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She doesn't think—she snatches up her bow, dashing off in the direction of the sound. The sound splits the air like a pick on ice; it shatters. Truly, she is thankful for a disturbance, albeit it is a worrying one. She does not need another tearful night.

So she runs.

She runs in the direction of the noise—it sounds an awful lot like the huntress Gabrielle, the other demigod, a pretty blonde from the eighteenth century. Gabrielle could be her older sister.

And now she has returned to camp, where a flock of silvery huntresses have gathered before her; they are surrounding something, and some sort of sense tells Thalia that it is Gabrielle. She pushes past each and every one of the girls in her way; they protest, but do not move against her—she is too quick for them. The light material of their moon-struck clothing brushes against hers as she passes, cold breaths and sore hearts. She is alarmed, and does not wish to wait to know who it was that screamed.

Soon she tears her way to the center.

She wants to scream when she catches sight of the bloodied Gabrielle on the ground.

Artemis is there as well—a child next to the teenager. When Thalia catches sight of the goddess's cold, cold eyes, she sees only cold fury, ice that glazes the image of the moon. She would not be surprised if her Lady would choose to turn about and dash in furious pursuit of whoever did...whatever happened to Gabrielle; and thus showing that she is on the brink of losing her mind to anger.

"What happened?" she gasps. The unconscious huntress looks a horrible mess. Silvery tatters clothe the red-stained form. She must have been attacked, that is the most likely reason...but why...

Artemis's frozen flints move to gaze up at her, and for a moment Thalia almost fears her Lady; there is anger, enough to tear apart Mount Olympus itself. The moon goddess is a mother of sorts to all of them, but a general at the same time. If she learns to love one of them, it will hardly account to anything, in the end—if they prove themselves unfaithful, they will be cast out like any man.

The goddess speaks. Her voice is chilling, rampaged by snow wolves, and says, coldly, harshly, "She has been violated."

All at once, outrage sweeps the setting; some huntresses murmur in disgust. Thalia's grip tightens even more upon her bow. Her heart immediately leaps in fury.

To think that someone would take someone, hurt someone against her will...

And feel happy about it...

It is sick.

"Who did it?" she asks immediately, quietly. The bow is ready to snap beneath her fingers, and she wants to find whoever did this to her comrade who has been violated—whoever dares to do this to one of them...

Hesitation. She feels it, for it comes in its slightest form; there is a brief, pregnant pause before Artemis says, darkly, reluctantly, "I don't know."

She sounds frustrated. Of course she would.

Thalia's eyes narrow; again she looks at her silver sister Gabrielle, fallen victim to some man's disgusting pleasures, and asks, "Where did it take place?"

Something in her has resolved—to take action. She cannot leave it all like this. She cannot see her comrade raped and left there, with all her immortal allies helpless to chase the culprit.

Then logic reaches her again: When Gabrielle wakes, she can tell them who did this.

Till then she must wait, and help her in any way she can.

She grinds her teeth together—she almost rushed out blindly; so unbecoming of a lieutenant, unbecoming of any huntress who has fought for years.

It is how foolish mistakes are made.

She would know.

Don't think about that, she warns herself quickly. This is not the time, nor the place.

Looking back at Artemis, she says, "When Gabriel wakes..."

"She is no longer a virgin." Artemis interrupts, harshly. Thalia is able to hold back a quick gasp when her Lady speaks again, totally devoid of emotion. "Therefore she can no longer be a huntress."

The other girls shift at the sudden dismissal of Gabrielle, and Thalia bites her lip inside her mouth to check her alarm. Of course! She should have known.

"But...," Thalia says, when she is sure that she can conceal her feelings, "is there any way to help her?"

"That cannot be done."

"But, if by the will of the gods," she argues. "She did not fall in love with anyone. It was forced. And virginity can be returned—it's been done before." She stops; she has let herself go. She cannot speak against her Lady, not here; in private, perhaps, but not before the rest of the maidens.

"Believe me," Artemis says coolly—Thalia's heart skips a beat—"I wish I can. But that cannot be done as much today. That is one effect of the gods' adaptation of Western civilization." She does not say why. "But when I find the scum that dares to harm a maiden, perhaps that can be arranged." She speaks no more, and Thalia has to think, dryly, that there are still things about the gods that she does not know.

Artemis stands and straightens herself, nodding her head—a clear dismissal. As the huntresses move away—all of them except Thalia—she bends over again, and picks up Gabrielle. The small stature of the goddess supporting the taller girl makes the scene look somewhat ridiculous, but still impressive. There is a flicker of pity, and again rage in her eyes before she turns toward her tent. "Thalia," she calls, without looking back. Thalia silently follows.

Anxiety gnaws a bit at her stomach.

Artemis still does not look back when Thalia walks into the artificial light of her tent, not until she deposits Gabrielle to the extra sleeping bag in the corner. With clearer vision, Thalia sees the slack-jawed, close-eyed expression of the misfortunate girl; she catches the stench of blood rising from her body. Again she feels the passing strike of anger.

"Tomorrow," Artemis says suddenly, turning around, "we will be going to New York City."

Thalia blinks at this announcement.

The small goddess goes on, "I have reason to believe that the culprit"—a tight, momentary draw of the brows—"resides there. Meanwhile, hunting may be done at Central Park."

Then Percy...

No. She has to get him out of her mind. There are more New Yorkers than him, and she needs to stop thinking of him, him, and him.

So she nods.

I will be closer to you...

"Tomorrow, then," she says, nodding in a stiff fashion. "Tomorrow, New York."

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PT: Ohoho~ New Yorkers 8D