ON THIS SPRING DAY
━━━━━ prologue

━━━━━ THERE WERE SOME things that will forever follow Violet Beaumont. One thing was definitely bad luck—something everyone experienced at least once in their life. ( It just seemed to beset Violet a little bit more than others. ) Another thing had to be her problems.

               Violet continually ran from her troubles. She wasn't someone who was good at confrontation. She'd instead do anything than confront her mistakes and wrongdoings. And she had learned it from her mother, Dahlia.

               Dahlia moved the two from city to city to avoid her issues. She had even moved them from France to the United States to run from her issues. And Violet was still salty about it. Let's be honest for a second, would you rather say you live in Paris, France, or say you live in Buffalo, New York?

               Violet knows her answer without a doubt.

               However, Dahlia insisted that they were moving for her job as a florist. Apparently, America would offer a wider range of clients. Violet wasn't sure how much she believed her mother. It just didn't seem likely; Dahlia seemed to get good business and a substantial clientele wherever they lived—various places in France or America.

               So perhaps Violet learned the skill of running from her problems from her mother. Big deal. It seemed to be working for Dahlia for the most part. The Beaumonts weren't struggling for money and were instead struggling to keep any sort of social life going. It was becoming lonesome to frequently move from one place to another.

               Even so, the Beaumonts were about to beat their own record of all the places they have stayed. Violet and her mother have been in Buffalo, New York for nearly a year. The other place they had stayed at the longest had been Paris, France when Violet was a newborn to nearly twelve months old. Violet didn't remember any of it so she wasn't sure to count that.

               Violet always pleaded and begged not to move—an inconsiderate action, she understands that. But was it not inconsiderate of her mother to never consider how Violet felt? Dahlia stuck Violet in these preppy, uppity schools that never truly taught her anything, just how to absorb and then regurgitate the information thrown at her.

               Well—if Violet was to be generous, those schools did teach her how to judge character. How to lie through her teeth. Or how to pretend she's something that she was not.

               Dahlia never let Violet have the time to make friends. It wasn't like Violet was some weirdo with abnormal tendencies but it always looked that way because she never hung out with anyone her own age. She was always with her mother or alone when Dahlia was gone. It was an endless cycle: move to some new place, end up alone and with no one to talk to, because she was alone no one wanted to talk to her, and then she moved again.

               It had been a repeating cycle ever since Violet had started school.

               However, it wasn't like her classmates left her alone completely. No, they still bothered her. In the beginning, they'd poke fun at her 'funny French' accent ( which every teacher just said was them being 'curious' and 'trying to understand the world'. A massive load of bullshit if Violet had ever heard any. ) Then, when she had perfectly adopted the American accent, they'd poke fun at her home life; at the fact she had no father to go home to, to be more precise.

               Violet had no idea who her father was. She'd never met him, never heard his voice, never even received a letter or phone call from the mysterious man. Violet didn't even know his name. All she knew was that he was a handsome man with a lot of ambition—whatever the fuck that meant. Apparently, as the story goes according to Dahlia, the two met and a whirlwind romance happened that ended with Violet.

               Violet wanted to gag at the thought. Not the romance part, just the part of Violet being the result. ( Violet would rather lay down and die than ever hear her mother allude to having sex ever again. ) No, Violet loved romance; loved seeing it on the streets, loved seeing it in the media, loved hearing stories about people falling in love, and loved the thought of being in love.

               She had never been in love herself; she was only twelve, after all.

               However, Violet wasn't sure her parents were truly ever in love. If her father loved Dahlia, wouldn't he have loved Violet? Dahlia said she never kept her pregnancy a secret from him. Violet was his own flesh and blood; a part of him and apparently even had some of his characteristics. But Violet's elusive father had never once shown his face. That was a feeling that stung sharper than love ever could in Violet's heart.

               That feeling of being unwanted and unloved by her father was something that had been following Violet since the moment her father decided it was best to run rather than face her.

🌷

Violet kept a sharp eye on the circular clock hung on the wall, counting down the minutes until her spring break started.

               It was the last class of the day and Violet couldn't wait to get out of prison called Lakeshore Middle School for a week. The school year so far hadn't been horrible. Not that it had been amazing, just not as bad as the previous school year. And Violet was feeling pretty great about herself as she had managed to make it nearly two whole semesters at Lakeshore without getting expelled ( that was also another record nearly broken ).

               Violet had been expelled from the majority of the schools she had gone to. The ones she hadn't been dismissed from were only because she and Dahlia moved before the school's administrators could bring down the hammer.

               And perhaps her talent for getting expelled was another reason she and her mother had to move so often. Dahlia didn't have the luxury of homeschooling Violet and it was against the law to keep Violet from getting an education. ( The word 'education' was being used liberally; the teachers spent more time teaching kids how to tie shoes or to not hit other classmates than actually teaching the curriculum. )

               A sigh of relief traveled throughout the kids in the rectangular room as the bell rang loudly. The last bell of the day for one whole week. The students sagged with relief as they picked up their bags and started heading for the door.

               Parts of their schedules would change for the next quarter, the electives changing but not the core classes. Violet's classmates were talking excitedly about their next quarter's schedules, to see if any classes aligned with one another.

               Violet was excited to get out and celebrate her twelfth birthday soon after the break. She swung her bag over her shoulder, one of the last kids to escape the classroom.

               Until the substitute teacher called her name.

               Instead of Mrs. Stewart ending the quarter with them, she called in sick and left her classes with a substitute teacher named Ms. Aarden.

               Ms. Aarden was a woman who looked to be in her mid-30s with brown hair the color of hay. She had dark brown eyes and a natural sneer. Ms. Aarden did not look friendly, which is why Violet cringed on the inside when her name escaped the teacher's mouth.

               "Yes, ma'am?" she asked, stopping in her tracks. The last remaining students in the classroom with her glanced at Violet and the teacher before quickly escaping. Violet knew she would be the talk of the bus rides home that day.

               Ms. Aarden regarded the girl with cold eyes. "How long have you been in Buffalo, Violet?"

               The girl glanced toward the door. "Er ... nearly a year," she said. "We moved in last May—me and my mom."

               "I've heard you move a lot," Ms. Aarden prompted. "Why's that?"

               Violet's eyebrows furrowed, racking her mind for any way to escape the extremely private conversation. Unable to find a nice way to flee from the matter, she said; "That's a personal topic, isn't it? I mean—I wouldn't ask for your life story."

               Ms. Aarden smiled with embarrassment. "Of course," she muttered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It was just as a child, I moved around a lot as a kid. I'm just worried that it's hindering you the way it hindered me."

               "I'm passing all of my classes," Violet said abruptly, an awkward laugh bubbling from her throat. She hoped Ms. Aarden one; didn't know that 'passing' meant all D's, and that two; would figure out that she was definitely overstepping boundaries.

               Ms. Aarden looked the black-haired girl in the eye. "That's not what I meant, either," she said. "I meant your home life. What's it like with your mother?"

               The grip on Violet's bag tightened. She glanced at the doorway once again. She had to wonder if Ms. Aarden had heard the whispers about all the 'reasons' the Beaumonts moved so often. When given scraps of someone's story, people grasp at anything to fill in the rest of the blanks. The Beaumonts neighbors had been the ones to start the rumbles of crimes and fraudulent skims committed by Dahlia.

               The closest thing the neighbors got to being correct was that Violet had a problem child and was unwilling to move.

               Violet could feel another round of uncomfortable laughter bubbling in her throat. "Look—I can't miss the bus. I'm sorry, Ms. Aarden, I've got to go."

               A fruitful attempt to escape.

               "Have you lived in any place for over a year, Violet?" Ms. Aarden asked quickly, holding out a hand to stop the girl from walking any closer to the wooden door.

               "Uh ..." Violet looked at the substitute teacher, "why are you asking?"

               "It's not good for children to not have a place to call home," Ms. Aarden said. "You haven't had a stable home since you were born, Violet. Any mother should know that and any mother should do what's best for their child."

               How was Violet supposed to respond to that? That was, like, some creepy thing a stalker would say. She licked her lips, grasping at anything that would be a response other than just a stupefied stare.

               "I—I don't ... Look—my mother is my home. She's doing the best she can with what life's thrown at her," Violet insisted, her voice a higher register than normal. "I have to go. I have to ride the bus home."

               "Think about it, Violet," Ms. Aarden pressed. "Parents should do what's best for their children. I can say, from experience, moving around so often wasn't what was best for me. It caused me so much loneliness, I could barely make any friends. Wouldn't Dahlia do what's best for you? She should be thinking about where it would be best to move you, not for her and her business."

               Seriously, this was way out of bounds. Violet hadn't even talked to Ms. Aarden before this. She swallowed harshly, saying, "Ma'am—I'm asking you to stop. And leave Mom out of this."

               She took one, gigantic step for the door, ignoring the cold look on Ms. Aarden's face. Violet had tried to nicely leave the conversation before but Ms. Aarden refused to let her go. Violet shrugged her bag up higher on her shoulder, pushing the door out of her way.

               The girl jerked back and gasped as she noticed the door doing something weird. The oak wood looked alive; breathing, rising slowly, and then deflating.

As the wooden door started to take another slow, raspy breath, Violet looked back to Ms. Aarden. She looked to see how the woman was reacting, to see if Ms. Aarden had noticed it too. However, Ms. Aarden was looking straight at Violet, slowly standing up from her cushy, black chair.

               The stare was so intense. It held such rage, hatred, and power that it scared Violet. Fight or flight kicked in, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and Violet ran out of the room. She ran past every other person left in the hallways and all the way out of Lakeshore Middle School, making it to her bus right before they left the lot.

🌷

The school bus creaked to a slow stop, Violet lurching forward slightly as the breaks squealed shrilly. The bus driver gave her a nod in replacement of a Goodbye as the glass doors slid open. Violet gave the older man a tight-lipped smile, walking down a couple of steps and off the bus.

               She tried not to let her shock show as the bus rumbled away, ignoring the feeling of eyes pointing daggers into her back. She tried masking the anger at the sight before her. Two white moving trucks sat outside the quaint house, people walking in and out of the trucks and the house with boxes and suitcases. Violet licked her lips as some workers glanced at her with rolls of bubble wrap tucked in their arms.

               Dahlia had told her nothing about this. Violet's mother had never mentioned anything about moving. Violet shouldn't be shocked, but she would've thought her mother would have at least informed her. Dahlia should've informed Violet, she just didn't. ( Perhaps she didn't because she knew just how much Violet would beg not to. )

               She squared her shoulders as her mother walked out the front door. Violet glanced at the man behind Dahlia, he had glossy black hair and light brown skin, looking to be in his early thirties at the oldest. He had a tall nose with a nasal hump closer to the top of his bridge. He smiled at Violet, revealing a set of perfectly straight, blinding white teeth.

               Violet shifted on her feet, looking back to her mother. Dahlia had their dog, Benny, on his leash. Dahlia had a tight hold on the blue leash, talking with the man, who was nodding to Violet. Dahlia swallowed heavily before saying something to the man, quiet enough that Violet wasn't able to hear.

               The man walked ahead of Dahlia, saying loudly, "Violet? I'm Erik!"

               Violet smiled awkwardly. "Yeah ... Hey." She looked at Dahlia. "You never told me we were moving."

               She came off harsher than she meant to.

               Dahlia glanced at Erik, and he gave her a nod of encouragement. Violet frowned at the interaction. Everyone looked at Erik as if he was the shiniest, most eye-catching thing around—including Dahlia. At first glance, Violet wouldn't have guessed Erik worked as a mover, thinking he easily could've gotten signed with any modeling company.

               Dahlia licked her lips before she said slowly, "It's for the best. There's been this new business—"

               "A new business opportunity," Violet finished with a scowl. "That's what you always say."

               Dahlia watched her daughter for a moment. "We're moving to Manhattan. There's a better school for you to go to there."

               "Is it another boarding school?"

               "You need to get Bandit," Dahlia said, avoiding the question. "He's in your room. A cage has already been set out."

               Violet knew exactly why Dahlia was avoiding answering. The 'better' school was a boarding school—and both of them knew how well Violet did in boarding schools. She steeled her shoulders, brushing past Dahlia as Erik held a hand out.

               "Let me get your backpack for you," he offered. "I'll put it in the car you'll be riding in."

               Violet stared at the man before slowly letting the straps of her bag slide off her shoulder. She set the straps in his hands, muttering a "Thanks" before hurrying inside. Violet brushed past workers, who never offered her a second glance. She made it to the one door that was closed, her bedroom.

               For the most part, everything had been packed. The TV was still in the room, and so were the bigger furniture items like her bedframe, dresser, and chest of drawers. The mattress on her bed had been stripped and every article of fabric had been taken out of the room. Minor scuff marks were visible on the floor where Violet had decided to re-decorate her room at three A.M. In the very middle of the room, where a baby pink rug had been, was a black, plastic pet carrier.

               Violet crouched, placing her knees on the cold, hardwood floor. A black and white cat, Bandit, was hiding underneath the barren bed, his green eyes catching the light streaming in through the open blinds.

               Violet held a hand out, saying, "Come on, buddy," while patting the floor. The carrier already had food inside, an enticement to get the animal inside the cage.

               Bandit didn't get any closer to her, leaving Violet with the option of pulling him out. She placed her chest on the cold floor, pulling herself underneath the bed. Bandit didn't move, but he did glare at her. She grabbed the cat by the front legs and gently pulled him out from underneath.

               Violet kept Bandit trapped under one arm as she pulled the carrier over with the other. She shoved the cat inside, closing the door behind him quickly, ignoring his angry hisses. Violet walked outside with the cage in hand, walking over to her mother.

               "That Erik guy said we're riding in a car," Violet said. "What car?"

               Dahlia pointed to one of the white vehicles, one that had an enclosed trailer attached to it. "That one," she said. "Place the carrier in the back seat, where you'll be sitting."

               Violet gave Dahlia a second glance. "Why am I sitting in the back?"

               "Erik's driving us to Manhattan," Dahlia explained. "He knows the way better."

               "I'm gonna be stuck in a car with him?" Violet asked, looking out for the man. Erik was talking with another worker, who was giving Erik the same look Dahlia had given him. "I don't know him. And he's weird."

               Dahlia gave her daughter a stern look. "You've said two words to each other. He hasn't done anything to you that is weird, Violet."

               "No—it's the way everyone talks with him," Violet said. "They look at him like he's—I don't know—some supermodel."

               Dahlia glanced at Erik again, her back straightening. "I don't know what you're talking about, honey. No one looks at him like that."

               Violet gave her mother an annoyed look. "You look at him like that."

               "I do not!" Dahlia insisted. A vein popped out in the middle of her forehead. That always happened whenever Violet was treading on her mother's nerves.

               Violet looked away quickly, heading for the car Dahlia had pointed at. She set Bandit inside, behind the driver's seat. She scratched Benny behind the ear, who was panting happily. The dog seemed to have loved all the employees who had awed and cooed over him.

               She shut the door when Erik walked over to her, a box tucked under his arm.

"You don't mind putting this in the trailer, do you Vi?" he asked her.

               Violet frowned at the nickname, wanting to correct Erik. "Sure," she said instead, taking the brown box out of his hands. "Hey, Erik" —she placed great emphasis on saying his name instead of a nickname— "have you noticed how people look at you?"

               Erik tried to smile; it turned out strained and wavered slightly. "What do you mean?"

               "I mean—everyone looks at you like you hung the sun or something," Violet said.

               Erik winced at the word Sun. Violet frowned.

               "I'm their crew leader, Violet, I would hope they would look at me that way," said Erik, leaning against the side of the truck. He had a lean build with slender fingers. "Should they not do that?"

               Violet watched the man closely. "They can do whatever they want, I guess ..." she mumbled before she walked inside the trailer to set the box down.

               When she left the trailer, Erik was still outside, watching her like she was some puzzle. "You're not very happy about moving," he noticed.

               "Geez, what gave it away?" Violet asked with a roll of her eyes.

               "You're glaring at everyone who walks by you," Erik said.

               Violet glared. "I didn't actually want you to answer."

               Erik shrugged. "I get it, kiddo."

               "Don't call me kiddo."

               The man carried on as if nothing had come out of Violet's mouth. "Has Dahlia told you I'm driving you to Manhattan?"

               "Why are you driving us to Manhattan?" Violet asked.

               Erik raised his eyebrows. "I live there—or near there, Violet. I know the quickest way to get there. That's it."

               Violet looked the man over once and then a second time. "Whatever ..." she muttered.

🌷

Being stuck in a moving vehicle going six hours across the state with your mother and your supposed father ( who had the nerve to show up out of thin air after twelve years ) learning that you're father was apparently a Greek god and that you were a demigod was not on Violet's bucket list. She didn't have a bucket list, truth be told, but if she did that would not be on it.

               There had never been a moment in time when Violet had wanted to jump out of a moving car more. She can admit that she was a child with no sense of self-preservation and had thought about looking like some superhero and rolling out of a car. To see if she could survive it, of course, but now? Violet hoped and prayed that jumping out of the car would not only be dangerous, but also fatal.

               Do you realize how awkward it is to be stuck inside a car with her 'father', a man she had never talked to before? And that the man was saying that he was Eros, the God of Love? Violet didn't know how to let the guy know that she thought he had totally lost his mind.

               Violet hadn't gotten in the car with that kind of knowledge. Dahlia thought it would be best to tell Violet while driving eighty miles per hour down a highway. Erik—or Eros—said he had come by now because Violet was about to turn twelve. That was the age when demigods ( also called half-bloods ) start attracting monsters.

               Violet looked between Eros and Dahlia. "So you're saying now because I'm nearly twelve, I have to go to this camp—"

               "Camp Half-Blood," Eros interrupted. He kept his eyes trained on the road spreading out before them.

               "So I go live at Camp Half-Blood and train? For how long?" Violet asked.

               "However long you think you should," said Dahlia. "It all depends on the kid and how many monsters they attract—or that's what Eros told me when I found out I was pregnant with you."

               Violet's face contorted at the idea. She shook the image away, pulling herself to be between her parents. It was weird to think of the man before her as her father. Biologically he may be ( although Eros did say the gods don't exactly have DNA—but still have kids, which didn't make sense at all ), but he was the furthest thing from her father. He had never been there for Violet growing up, and that's what a parent was supposed to do.

               "How do I know you're not just, like, pulling my leg?" she asked with a doubtful tone.

               That hadn't been the first time she had asked that question. It had been the fourth time; each time worded the exact same as the last. It was a fair question to her, all of this seemed like some extremely cruel April's fool's prank some shitty parents would pull.

               ( Violet wasn't saying she had shitty parents—it was just ... Only shitty parents would pull this kind of prank. So if this all was just a prank, then they would be shitty parents. If any of that made sense. )

               Eros looked at her from the rearview mirror, his eyes a dark red now. Violet glanced away quickly, looking to Dahlia for an answer.

               Dahlia sighed heavily. "Just like the last time, Violet, it's because your twelfth birthday is coming up. Eleven, twelve are typically the age when monsters start to attack demigods."

               Violet chewed on her inner cheek. "What kind of monsters?"

               "Every monster that was ever written in those Greek myths you guys learn about," Eros said. "But another thing—names have power. So saying all those monsters' names can attract them to you."

               Violet pointed a finger at her mother. "So you're saying you knew all along?"

               Dahlia looked at Eros one last time before turning around in her seat to face her daughter. "I can see past the Mist, the thing that keeps the mortal world and the Greek world separate—to a degree, at least. The Mist can make all these monsters blend in with the mortal world to people who can't see past it because they wouldn't be able to comprehend it otherwise. I knew who Eros was when I first met him, and then when I ended up pregnant, he told me how dangerous it would be for you and told me about this ... camp."

               "Still—why did you never tell me?" Violet pushed.

               "Because when demigods find out about their parentage, it's easier for monsters to find them."

               "And what do you mean by find?" Violet narrowed her eyes.

               "Demigods smell—"

               "I smell?"

               "It's because your powers are starting to manifest—become more potent and controllable," Eros explained with a wave of his hand. "It's not like body odor—or whatever that's called."

               "It's called body odor," Violet said dryly.

               It was so casual. So painfully casual—and awkward. Violet was sitting in a van with her mother and her father, who was a Greek god, while they were telling her she was doomed to live a dangerous, monster-filled life because they decided to hookup.

               So perhaps Violet felt a little taken aback by it all. Perhaps she felt a little betrayed and angered. Her mother knew and never told her. Dahlia knew exactly who Violet's father was and never once told her. It didn't even matter that Violet wouldn't have believed Dahlia, it was still wrong to leave Violet in the dark.

               "Violet," Dahlia said. "I wanted to tell you—truly. But I couldn't for your own safety."

               Violet frowned. That wasn't enough for her. Dahlia had lied to Violet for years—for Violet's entire life.

               "And this was the best way to tell me?" she asked, gesturing between Eros and her mother.

               Dahlia clamped her mouth shut. She sighed quietly, turning back around in her seat. "There is no good way to tell you."

               Violet swallowed, glaring at the back of her mother's head. She sat back in her seat, Benny setting his head on her lap. "You should've thought about that ..." she grumbled. "I mean—why did you think it was a good idea to have a kid that was destined to get mauled by some Greek monsters."

               "We never said that, Violet," Dahlia insisted. "So do not put words in mine or your father's mouths."

               Violet gawked at the woman before her. "Spoiler alert, Mom; he's" —she gestured dramatically to Eros— "not my dad. He's just my sperm donor!"

               Dahlia set her jaw. "Violet!" she roared.

               "I'm not wrong!" Violet insisted. She sat up quickly, her rigid posture acting like some makeshift protection from her mother's anger. "He was never around while I was growing up—so he's not my dad. That's how these things work, right?"

               Eros spoke up; "Not by choice, Violet. The gods are never allowed to see their children growing up. I'm facing Zeus's wrath by doing this." He nodded to the steering wheel in front of him.

               Dahlia turned her furious stare back to Violet. "We will talk about this later," she said, pushing a finger into the armrest between herself and her previous lover. After Dahlia turned back around in her seat, Violet sneered at the back of her mother's head.

               They exited the highway, the trailer rumbling along behind them. Eros said, breaking the silence in the car, "We're five minutes away from Manhattan!"

               Violet will reiterate: It was really odd to have your father, a Greek god, driving a van with basically you're entire life packed inside.

🌷

Dahlia had escaped the van to go inside the store beside the gas pumps. She took twenty dollars with her to pay for the gas. Eros drummed his fingers on the leather steering wheel, confined to the car with his daughter as Dahlia was the only one who knew how to pump gas.

               "You know how to drive a car but you don't know how to pump gas?" Violet asked Eros.

               The god glared at her. "It's a miracle I know how to drive. I could just tell the car to go but that would be illegal."

               Violet blinked. "You're a god, you don't have laws."

               "I do have laws I'm forced to follow." Eros shook his head. "Just not the kind you're used to."

               Violet looked out the windows of the van. She looked for any sign of Dahlia leaving the store. When she turned back around, she caught sight of Eros looking at her from the rearview mirror.

               "What's on your mind?" he asked.

               "You said monsters would start to attack me more now because I'm older and that smell-thing you talked about," Violet said and Eros nodded. "Well ... I had a sub today—Ms. Aarden—and while I was talking to her and was going to leave, the door looked—it looked like it was breathing."

               Eros's dark eyebrows pinched together. His expression made Violet regret ever opening her mouth. "Forget it," she said quickly. "I was probably just seeing things."

               "Ms. Aarden?" Eros asked. "That's what she told you her name was?"

               "Yeah ... Do you know who that is?" Violet asked.

               "Monsters will often pretend to be mortal to get closer to the demigod they're after," Eros explained. "Taking on mortal aliases and such. So no, her name doesn't really mean—" He closed his mouth suddenly, as if collecting his thoughts. "Did she say anything to do? Like—weird things?"

               "She somehow knew me and Mom moved a lot," Violet said. "She kept asking about my home life, too. How Mom should be a better mom."

               Eros's eyes were conflicted. "That's not how ..." he trailed off.

               "That's not how what?" Violet asked, leaning closer to her father.

               Eros looked at Violet. "Did she attack you?"

               "Well, no," said Violet. "But when I was leaving, I noticed the door and looked to see if Ms. Aarden had noticed it, but she was ..." She took a deep breath. "I don't know—glaring at me? She seemed to not care about the door, she was looking at me. The look was so full of hate, I got scared and ran."

               Eros tried to smile at his daughter. "That was the right thing to do, Vi. If you had stayed, Ms. Aarden could've revealed her true form and attacked you."

               "So I'm gonna have to live like this for the rest of my life?" asked Violet. "Running from monsters? Or staying at this camp for kids like me?"

               "There are ways to live in the mortal world and stay safe," Eros said. "But you need to go to Camp Half-Blood and train so if—and when—monsters do find you, you can protect yourself."

               "Here," the god said, a pink card appearing in his hand. He held it out to Violet. "Explanation on where Camp Half-Blood is at."

               It was a pink card with the words Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141. Long Island, New York 11954 in cursive script. That kind of font was murder on Violet's eyes considering she was dyslexic and all.

               Violet held the card with a dim expression. "You know I'm dyslexic, right?"

               Eros huffed, grabbing the card out of her hands. "Let me read it!"

               "I already read it," she insisted. "It just took me a little while."

               Eros held the card back to her, pursing his lips. "You need to go there and train," he insisted.

               She shouldn't have to do that. It wasn't fair. None of it was. Violet didn't ask for her father to be a god.

🌷

Eros had left daughter and former lover to fill the apartment with their stuff, saying something about 'Zeus was already lenient'. He warned Violet to look away, and as she did as told, a bright light erupted in the middle of the barren living room. The light burned so brightly she thought the room might burst into flames before the glare disappeared as soon as it had come.

               "Um ... what was that?" Violet demanded, pointing at where Eros had once stood. The god was gone, like poof into thin air kind of gone.

               "He left, Violet," Dahlia explained, sounding exasperated.

               "But why did he erupt into a column of light?" the daughter of Eros asked. "He could've left through the front door or something."

               Dahlia gave her daughter a tired look. "He's a god. They're always a little on the dramatic side."

               Violet pursed her lips. "That feels like a comment directed at me."

               She saw her mother roll her eyes, setting a cardboard box on the counters. "It wasn't," Dahlia said.

               Violet turned the pink card Eros had given her over in her hand. She looked at the back, where a simple drawing of a drawn bow and arrow was stamped on there in gold. "I need to go to Camp," she announced suddenly. "To Camp Half-Blood. To train."

               Dahlia paused in the middle of opening one of the boxes. "I thought we could finish the school year and then you go to Camp," she said. "And you can stay over the summer break and then come back and tr—and go to school for seventh and eighth grade."

               "You said going to Camp was for however long I think I should go, not you," Violet pointed out. "I wanna go now. You said I'm more likely to attract monsters now because I know."

               "Going to Camp shouldn't risk your education," Dahlia countered.

               "You act like I'm getting a good education," Violet said dryly. "Let me just go to Camp."

               "Going to Camp Half-Blood isn't some decision that can be made in a matter of minutes," Dahlia insisted. "We need to talk about this."

               Violet stared at her mother, a little dumbfounded. "We have been talking about this. Going to Camp Half-Blood is what would be best for me—or are you doing what's best for you?"

               Dahlia raised her eyebrows. "For me?" she repeated. "I've been doing what's best for you, Violet. It may not seem like that but it is."

               "I don't see how moving me around every year or so is what's best for me," Violet hissed.

               Dahlia closed her eyes for a moment, as if considering continuing the argument. "If you think going to Camp Half-Blood would be best for you, then so be it. I'll drive you to Camp tomorrow morning. I'll let you stay until your new school starts its new quarter."

               Her tone made Violet shrink back into her skin. She thumbed the card in her hand mindlessly. She watched as her mother turned her back, organizing glass plates in the cabinets overhead.

               Violet's mouth felt dry as she tried to say, "Eros gave me this card. It had Camp's location on it."

               "I don't need it," Dahlia said cooly.

               Violet licked her lips before she left the apartment to help pack in other boxes. She mulled over what she had said and over what had planted those kinds of seeds of doubt in her mind; Ms. Aarden.

🌷

Violet looked at Dahlia as they slowed to a stop at the base of a large hill. Dahlia's lips were pursed as she held the pink card in her hand. She looked back up the hill, her eyes swirling with unreadable emotions.

               "This is the place," she announced.

               Violet's heart jerked slightly. She had wanted to go badly the day before, but now, where she was going to leave her mother for a whole week, Violet wasn't so sure. She sucked in her bottom lip, looking up the hill. The hill was steep with knee-high green grass, and there were lines and lines of trees all around but one stood out; this tree was a tall pine tree.

               Slightly behind the tree, a tall sign shimmered. At first, it looked to be unreadable, like some sort of dead, ancient language. Violet frowned when the words rearranged themselves, sorting themselves out to spell Camp Half-Blood.

               Violet looked back to her mom, who nodded. "Go on," Dahlia encouraged. "I can't go with you. It's no place for mortals."

               The daughter of Eros's heart was heavy as she dug her backpack out from the floorboard. She exited the car, swinging the pack over her shoulder. Dahlia leaned her head down to keep an eye on her daughter.

               "I'll get you at the end of spring break," Dahlia said. "On the eighth, okay?"

               Violet nodded. "The eighth," she repeated.

               She shut the car door and turned her back, feeling as if the hill was looming over her, waiting to crash down like a tidal wave. Instead of continuing to cower, Violet climbed the hill, feeling the burn in her calves to reiterate just how out of shape she was.

               The closer she got to the tall pine tree, the more that seemed to shimmer into view. While driving, Violet had gotten glimpses of the hill through the tree lines, but the only thing that seemed to be at the top was giant strawberry fields.

               Now? It seemed to be its entire own community. The people walking around even had their own uniform; extremely ugly orange shirts that read Camp Half-Blood. Anyone that was wearing a shirt didn't seem to be past their teen years.

               There was a volleyball court, where a game was currently taking place. There was another building not too far away, and although Violet had a hard time seeing through the windows, she saw paintings halfway done or half-woven pieces.

               The kids playing at the volleyball field halted their game to turn around and look at Violet. She stayed in the shade of the pine tree, feeling out of place. One blond boy held up his hand, tossing the volleyball into the ground. The people on the other side of the net complained but the boy kept walking towards Violet.

               "Where's your Searcher?" the blond boy asked Violet.

               She blinked up at him. "My who?"

               The boy had blue eyes and sandy blond hair, he only looked to be seventeen, maybe eighteen. His face was carved with sharp features, like some sort of Greek statue. However, the façade was ruined with a large white scar trailing its way down his face.

               "Your Searcher," he repeated. "A satyr. Y'know—has the legs of a goat and helped you get to Camp."

               Violet shifted on her feet. "I never met anyone with goat legs," she said. "My mom drove me here."

               "Oh." The boy looked over Violet's head as if looking for any sign of a vehicle. When she looked for herself, Dahlia's rented car was already gone. "Well ... o-kay. I'm Luke, and, uh—I'll take you to the Big House. Have you been claimed?"

               Violet blinked. "Have I been what?"

               Luke's brows furrowed. "Claimed," he repeated again. "Has your godly parent done anything to say who they are? Do you have a mortal mom or dad?"

               "Oh—that's what you mean," Violet muttered. "Well ... I don't know if this is what you mean by claimed, but Eros helped me get here. He said I was his kid and my mom agreed."

               Violet thought it might be a little odd to say her father, Eros, God of Love, drove her and her mother six hours across the state of New York. That just didn't seem like a very godly thing to her.

               Luke tucked his hands into the back pockets of his cargo pants. "That's not the typical way, no," he agreed. "But it seems that your father is Eros, God of Love."

               The blond guy grabbed Violet by the shoulder and led her away from the tall pine tree. He stopped the two at the edge of the volleyball field, holding out his palm.

               "New kid at Camp," he explained to the people playing. One side had the same sharp features as Luke, which was the side closest to Violet; the other side seemed to have a more beachy appearance with tanned skin and blinding white smiles. "I'm gonna take her to the Big House."

               "What is the Big House?" Violet asked as Luke lead her away from the game that continued on without the blond.

               "It's a house," Luke explained. "Well—it's the only house here, where everyone sleeps are cabins. But the Big House is where Chiron and Mr. D stay. Chiron will want to talk with you."

               "You mean Chiron like the guy who taught Hercules?" asked Violet.

               Luke nodded. "Yeah. Only he's not a guy, he's a centaur."

               "Right ..." Violet said slowly, eyeing Luke. "I knew that."

               Hearing the fact that Chiron the centaur was still alive wasn't exactly the most shocking news in recent times. Violet had just learned her father was a Greek god and that she was half-god. But still, it was all odd. Perhaps it was the fact Violet was talking about Greek mythology being real to someone who wasn't claiming to be a Greek god or someone who was her mother. Talking about someone who was alive thousands of years ago and was a centaur with someone who looked as normal as Violet made it all almost real.

               Luke seemed to notice the girl's face turning a sickly green. He patted her shoulder. "S'okay, Violet. One step at a time."

               Violet tried to shake away the queasiness—it didn't work. "I don't know," she said. "Eros tried to explain it all to me but I guess it didn't seem real until ... now."

               Luke's blue eyes started to look stormy. "You talked with Eros about all of this?" he asked.

               "Yeah," said Violet. "I mean—he sorta just showed up and said you need to go Camp Half-Blood. Should he've not done that? I know he mentioned he was pushing Zeus's patience or something."

               Luke swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I only asked 'cause our parents don't typically take the time to explain what's going on. They normally just get a satyr to do it." He licked his lips, looking ahead. "None of that matters, though. You got here safe."

               Violet nodded, walking after the boy. She didn't fail to notice the usage of 'safe'. It made her wonder just how easy she had gotten it by arriving the way she had.

               The trek to the so-called 'Big House' wasn't exactly a long walk, but there was a lot to gawk at. There were kids walking around, all dawning the same wretched orange T-shirt with Camp Half-Blood written across it.

               The house Violet and Luke walked upon was a large, sky-blue house with a wrap-a-round porch. On the deck sat a man with black, glossy hair, and a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. The man in the wheelchair had a scruffy, brown beard and the hair on his head was thinning.

               "Chiron!" Luke called as he walked up the stair and to the deck.

               Violet hurried after him, trying to see what games the two men were playing. The middle-aged man looked up from his set of cards, smiling at the two walking for him.

               "Ah, Luke," the man said warmly; Violet assumed that was Chiron as he responded to it. He noticed her and asked, "Who's this?"

               Luke motioned to the girl beside him. "This is Violet ..." He looked at her, almost cluelessly. "What's your last name?"

               "Beaumont," Violet supplied.

               Chiron's brown eyes gave her a once-over, as if checking to see if she was exactly who she said she was. His brows furrowed and his eyes glossed over for merely a second. If Violet hadn't been staring, she wouldn't have ever noticed the change in expression.

               "Have you been claimed, Violet?" Chiron asked.

               "Yeah. By Eros," the young girl said.

               The other man looked up, his eyes were bored and annoyed. Violet assumed he was annoyed that she and Luke were interrupting his card game. He had a narrow face with light stubble around his chin. His eyes glinted purple in the sunlight.

               "Oh, great," the man drawled. "Another child to spout off about love and how it's the most dangerous thing. Personally, I couldn't give a da—"

               "Mr. D," Chiron said, his tone full of warning. "She cannot help who her father is."

               Mr. D waved his hand. "Oh, I know. But that doesn't mean I have to listen to the incessant ramblings of Aphrodite's kids."

               Violet's lips were pulled downward. "I said Eros, not Aphrodite."

               Mr. D turned his cold eyes toward Violet. "You will learn soon, Vivian, nobody cares whether you say Eros or Aphrodite. You're all one and the same, anyway."

               "My name isn't Vivian," Violet protested. "And what do you mean—"

               "Violet," Chiron cut in hastily. "Now that we know your father is Eros, that means you will be staying in Cabin Eleven, with Luke."

               Violet looked at the blond boy beside her. "What do the cabins mean?"

               Mr. D scoffed loudly. "The cabin you stay in is based on who your parent is, Violent."

               Violet scowled. "That's not even a name."

               Luke spoke up before Mr. D could come back with a response. "C'mon," he told her. "I'll take you to Cabin Eleven. We'll go get you a sleeping bag."

               Violet followed the boy, a heavy pit in her stomach. She was off-put by the conversation with Chiron and Mr. D—how Chiron had looked at her like she had stepped on his foot and how Mr. D had talked down Violet's parentage.

               "Mr. D said that our cabins are based on our parents, and Chiron said that you stay in Cabin Eleven, so—" she started to ask but Luke interrupted her.

               "Cabin Eleven isn't the cabin for Eros," Luke clarified. "Cabin Eleven is actually for my dad, Hermes."

               Violet frowned as they walked past the remaining strawberry fields and closer to a row of twelve cabins in the shape of a U. As far as Violet was aware, she thought there were a lot more than just twelve gods and goddesses. She looked over at Luke, who was walking towards the only cabin that actually looked like a cabin.

               He was walking for the cabin that had peeling brown paint and a caduceus over the door. There was a bronze number 11 nailed into the wood above the door. Violet hurried after him.

               "There's only twelve," she pointed out the obvious.

               "Yeah," said Luke, walking further inside the cabin. "For the twelve Olympians."

               Violet's confusion only grew more. "For the twelve Olympians? But there are so many other gods."

               Luke looked at her. His smile was full of pity. "Don't let what Mr. D said get to you."

               "That's not it," Violet insisted. "There are more gods than just the twelve, so why are there only twelve?"

               The pitiful smile on Luke's face dropped. He watched her carefully, as if waiting to see if she was going to explode in anger.

               "That's how it's always been, Violet," he said. "When Camp Half-Blood was first built, they only built twelve cabins."

               "But that's not right," Violet pointed out.

               Luke shrugged haphazardly. Her lips curled down at his reaction. "It's the way things are," the blond said. "There isn't anything we can do about it."

               Violet looked around the cabin. There were some people scattered about her and there, but there were three times as many sleeping bags laid across the floor. They were acting like they were watching her, but Violet had been the new kid enough times to know that they were eavesdropping. She bristled with anger, silently seething as Luke told her to follow him.

               None of it was fair. To not have cabins for the rest of the gods, for Mr. D to talk to her the way he did simply because her father was Eros, a minor god. What did it matter if her father was Eros? He was a god, wasn't he? Violet was just as important as the other half-bloods that had one of the twelve Olympians as a parent.

               Luke told her, "At least you were claimed. There're kids who still aren't—ever."

               Violet kept her mouth clamped shut, worried she would either lash out or simply start crying. Being claimed doesn't change the fact that her father didn't have a cabin at Camp Half-Blood.

🌷

Camp Half-Blood was supposed to be a safe haven for kids like Violet, but the daughter of Eros has never felt more out of place. She felt like everyone was staring at her, surely whispering about how her father was a minor god.

               She knew that wasn't the case. Violet knew no one was taking a second glance at her because her father was Eros, but because she stuck out like a sore thumb with a lavender-colored T-shirt on instead of the orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt.

               Violet was a new face, with a new name, and an unknown story. She got the idea that they didn't get many new campers too often.

               Luke showed her the rest of Camp, clearly trying his best to distract her. He showed her the dining pavilion, which was framed by Greek columns on a hill that overlooks the Long Island Sound. There were no walls or a roof.

               "What if it rains?" she asked.

               Luke grinned crookedly. "It only rains here when we want it to rain here."

               Violet raised her eyebrows silently, never letting on to how ridiculous she thought what Luke said was.

               The next thing she was shown was the Camp's forge. She knew that wasn't the place for her, never having an interest nor talent in metalwork. And then it was the Arts & Crafts Center. There was a Sword Fighting Area and an Archery Field they passed by as Luke explained to Violet that every camper had to train in order to hopefully one day leave Camp and survive the real world.

               "So we can leave?" Violet asked. "Just because we come here doesn't mean we have to stay?"

               "No, you don't have to stay," Luke said. "Some do stay year-round, either they attract too many monsters or they—uh—don't want to go back to whatever situation they were in."

               "But I could stay year-round?" Violet prompted.

               "If that's what you want, yeah," Luke said.

               The pair made their way by a climbing wall ( that had lava pouring down it, by the way; Luke said it was for 'a little extra challenge' ). The son of Hermes passively pointed to a thick line of trees and said, "That's part of the woods. It's pretty dangerous so don't go in there alone. There's dryads that live there but some of them can get pretty territorial over their spots."

               Violet took a closer look at the trees thirty feet from her. "What are dryads?" she asked.

               "Do you know what wood nymphs are?" asked Luke, and she shook her head. "Okay, well—dryads and wood nymphs are the same things, just different names. They basically watch over a certain tree and stuff. Like their life force is tied to the tree."

               Violet nodded along before quickly asking, "Why are the woods dangerous?"

               "They hold monsters," Luke said casually. "The monsters don't typically roam the outskirts, they stay around the west part of the woods."

               "You keep monsters in the woods?" Violet asked dryly. "Don't they want to eat us or something?"

               Luke smiled, looking amused by Violet's reactions. "They don't ever get close to Camp. They're there to see if we can protect ourselves. They're a nasty shock if you find one during Capture the Flag."

               Violet at least understood what Capture the Flag was. Everything else seemed to sail right over her head.

               After the two caught a glimpse of the Pegasus Stables, Luke and Violet turned around to head back toward the cabins. Luke made a pit stop by Cabin Six, the cabin for Athena ( at least, she was thinking that was the cabin for Athena ), and opened the door to the large metal shake attached to the side of Cabin Six.

               Violet wasn't exactly sure what to expect inside the metal shed that looked like one kept in a backyard for gardening. As far as she was aware, Athena wasn't the Goddess of Gardening. However, when she got a peek inside, there were no gardening tools—unless Violet wanted to go and make enemies with a strawberry patch.

               Luke waved the girl inside after him, rummaging through weapons upon weapons. There seemed to be every type of weapon in there; swords, knives, daggers, and even guns. It seemed super irresponsible to give kids a knife, let alone a whole shotgun. She slowly entered, looking around at all the weapons that could fall on her head and split her skull open.

               The son of Hermes smiled when he noticed her hesitancy. "They're not gonna come alive," he joked.

               Violet gave him an annoyed look. "You were talking about guys with goat legs, you keep monsters in your woods, and a rock climbing wall that pours lava, how do I know you don't have weapons that come alive?"

               She saw Luke silently roll his eyes as he stood back up. He placed his hands on his hips as he looked at Violet. "Have you ever held a sword before? What about a bow?"

               She gave the blond an exasperated look. "What do you think? My mom barely even trusts me with a kitchen knife."

               "So that's a no," Luke muttered. "I mean—we can see how you do with both, but I'm thinking you'll be better with a bow. Eros uses a bow and all."

               He grabbed a wooden bow off to his right and a golden sword. After tucking them under his arm, he said, "C'mon, let's see what you can do."

🌷

By the time May had rolled around, Violet wanted nothing more than to get back to Camp Half-Blood. Which was odd since she hated staying there in the beginning, and then she learned who to hang around. ( Which was definitely not Mr. D, who was actually Dionysus, God of Wine. ) Violet learned that some people would care about who her father was and the fact he wasn't one of the twelve Olympians, and she learned that they were pretty crappy people if they cared about that.

               Granted, the way the minor gods were treated still bothered Violet. It wasn't right and wasn't fair to them or their children. But Camp was the place where Violet felt like she didn't have to pretend to be something that she wasn't. She had a true friend group waiting for her beyond the magical border of the pine tree; campers like AJ, Annabeth, Connor, Travis, Silena, and Luke.

               Staying at Camp, in the beginning, had been one of the crappiest places she had stayed. And then she truly learned what Camp could offer; safety, security, and training to help her stay alive.

               Violet loves Dahlia, don't get her wrong, but it also felt suffocating to live in the mortal world now. And she also knew Dahlia would never allow Violet to go to Camp Half-Blood again. Dahlia had said it herself. Dahlia had said that she didn't like all the violence Violet spewed ( the violence being killing monsters, all of whom wanted to kill her ).

               For once, Violet decided to stop following every word her mother said. She ran away. Stupid, she knows, but she also knows how to get to Camp Half-Blood. She had memorized the roads and turns taken to get there. Violet hadn't memorized it on purpose, just something her mind had clung to on the way to and away from Camp Half-Blood.

               If Violet was perfectly honest, the latest fight with Dahlia hadn't been the thing to make her run away. No, it had been the glimpse of the substitute teacher, Ms. Aarden, standing on the other side of a bustling street in Manhattan.

               The fight had made Violet cry and wail—out of sadness and anger, and to try and get her way—but she would move on. Like she had done before. She and Dahlia always moved on from the arguments they had. They were too similar and always butted heads. Violet loved her mother, but she hated how Dahlia treated her.

               Violet remembered the chill that had crawled up her spine the moment she laid eyes upon the substitute teacher. She was out with her mother, walking around a part of Manhattan they had never been to before. It was a part of Manhattan with a farmer's market since Dahlia wanted to go see more affordable prices than the surrounding supermarkets.

               She remembers the exact moment she looked over the top of a case of pomegranates and caught sight of Ms. Aarden. She remembered the feeling of her heart dropping into her stomach. The fear that had crawled its way around her heart and encased it would be a feeling Violet would never forget.

               She careened her head around, looking for Dahlia. "Mom," she whispered. "I saw Ms. Aarden."

               Dahlia sat down a ripe apple and gave her daughter a blank stare. "Who?" she asked.

               "Ms. Aarden, Mom. The sub from Buffalo," Violet explained angrily.

               She had told her mother all about Ms. Aarden, but the daughter of Eros could tell Dahlia didn't believe her. Dahlia had asked Violet if Ms. Aarden had ever attacked her and when Violet answered no, it seemed everything she tried to say after that went in one ear and out the other.

               Violet remembered the frustration of trying to tell her mother what had happened. And she was re-remembering that same frustration as Dahlia shook her head and picked up another apple.

               "Mom," she hissed. "I'm serious!"

               Dahlia turned to her daughter. "We're not doing this in public. This conversation will wait till we get home. Understand?"

               Violet gritted her teeth, looking over her shoulder for any sign of the substitute. The crowd that surrounded them were ever-changing. It seemed like Ms. Aarden had blended into the crowd of mortals. Luke told Violet that's what monsters did—they amalgamated into the mortal population to get close to whatever half-blood they wanted to feast on next.

               Ms. Aarden had to be a monster. There was no other way to explain the weird conversation and the wooden door breathing. And Ms. Aarden being a monster would certainly explain why she stared at Violet with so much hatred when the girl hadn't done anything.

               She never stopped looking over her shoulder until the two made it inside their apartment. Violet didn't exactly feel safe and sound, but the knot in her chest loosened slightly when the apartment door locked.

               Dahlia and Violet never did talk about what happened in the farmer's market. Just how she predicted it. In fact, whenever Violet did try to bring it up, Dahlia shut her down with a cold glare.

               Dahlia's ability to avoid the topic of Violet being a half-blood was exactly why Violet left. It felt like a huge part of who Violet was—a part that when she had learned about it made her feel so much more comfortable in her own skin now—was being ignored. And it wasn't even just that, they couldn't ignore the face she was a half-blood: ignoring the fact that she was a demigod would get her killed.

               Violet stayed to the side roads in Manhattan. Or—the side roads she knew about as she had only been in Manhattan for a month and a half at that point. She had her school backpack stuffed with clothes and snacks. She had the bow Luke had given her slung across her back, a quiver full of arrows strapped to her.

               That was another reason she strayed to the less populated paths. Imagine the kind of panic and chaos that would ensue with someone found Violet Beaumont, a twelve-year-old with a golden bow and arrows. Granted it was possible that any mortal she stumbled across wouldn't see the bow—something to do with Mist and how it concealed the dangerous things, Violet didn't pretend that she understood any of it—but they might see something that would still cause panic.

               She didn't know how she made it out of Manhattan and to Long Island in half a day. Driving out of Manhattan and to Long Island versus trying to walk that same distance was a lot harder than Violet had ever anticipated. Maybe Eros was doing her another favor by some godly power thing.

               Her legs burned and her shoulders were sore. Violet knew she was out of shape—not nearly as out of shape as she had been before her week stay at Camp—but out of shape enough that her calves were burning. She wanted to rip the bow off her back, tired of the way it dug into her shoulder if she stood the wrong way.

               A bigger problem, however, arose when Ms. Aarden sprouted from the ground like some sort of tree. She wasn't as peaceful as a tree. No, because she glared at Violet and started wailing about ... something.

               She had no idea what the woman was going on about, too freaked out that the monster had emerged from the dirt. Ms. Aarden tore down the hill, pointing a finger at Violet. The daughter of Eros struggled to get the bow over her head as she backed away as quickly as she could.

               The two headed for the empty road behind Violet. The asphalt was grey with age, filled with cracks and potholes. Violet stumbled when her heel made contact with the road. She raised the bow, pulling an arrow out from the quiver strapped to her back.

               "Stay back!" the daughter of Eros commanded. "I know what you are! And I know this arrow will kill you!"

               Ms. Aarden smiled coldly. A shiver crawled its way down Violet's back. "You sure have a lot of confidence for a little girl," the monster hissed.

               Violet's lip curled downward. "A little girl with a drawn bow," she added.

               Ms. Aarden's cold smile turned into a scowl and she lunged. Violet fell back, keeping the bow drawn. Ms. Aarden chased after the demigod, screeching about prophecies and death. Violet didn't pay any mind to what the monster was spitting out, only focused on keeping space between herself and Ms. Aarden. She was no good in a close-range fight; she didn't have a sword or dagger, both weapons she was pretty weak with, only a bow.

               There was ten feet between Violet and Ms. Aarden when the monster stopped abruptly. The daughter of Eros took two more steps back, breathing heavily.

               "What?" she croaked, mainly to herself.

               However, Ms. Aarden answered. "Come to me," she murmured.

               Violet's eyes narrowed. Was Ms. Aarden trying to do some reverse psychological trick? Did she really think of Violet being that dumb?

               The daughter of Eros never responded, getting more space between her and Ms. Aarden. The monster crouched down, touching the ground beneath her. Violet didn't know what to expect—maybe for the asphalt to split in half and swallow her whole. Instead, however, two gigantic spiders wriggled themselves out from holes in the dirt.

               She physically recoiled, shooting one down with an arrow before quickly killing the second. The spiders were disgusting but nothing Violet wasn't able to take care of quickly. Soon, she was aiming a third arrow at Ms. Aarden's head.

               In the short span of time it had taken Violet to get rid of the giant spiders, Ms. Aarden had crossed half the distance between them. She had been afraid before of Ms. Aarden, it was like some instinctual fear rooted in her DNA, but had been a tiny alarm going off in the back of her head. But now, it was like the fear had consumed her entire body and was starting to make her paralyzed with anxiety.

               "Get back!" Violet yelled, her voice echoing.

               "You sound afraid," Ms. Aarden commented.

               "I'm not," the demigod insisted, raising her bow higher.

               "Tell me, are you afraid of spiders or of what I just did?" Ms. Aarden asked, inching closer.

               "Neither," Violet lied. "I just ... didn't expect it."

               Ms. Aarden grinned crookedly, her face contorting. Her face was cold and distant, as if she was from another time completely. "Do not fear, Elain ... You will be such a valuable pawn for me to use."

               "Elain? Who's—" Violet croaked. She set her features into a glare, as if a glare could protect her from a monster that could summon spiders. "I'm not your pawn."

               "I'm sorry, Violet, I didn't mean to call you Elain. That was just the first name that came out," Ms. Aarden apologized.

               "So you've done this to other kids?" Violet demanded. "Stalked and tormented them?"

               Ms. Aarden rolled her eyes at the accusation. "This is no time for words," she spat, throwing her arm out.

               At the same time, Violet let her third arrow fly. The arrow flew through the air and nicked Ms. Aarden's forearm, ripping the green dress shirt she wore. Violet saw that the arrow had ripped the monster's skin, but as quickly as the wound had appeared, it disappeared. The wound on Ms. Aarden's arm seemed to stitch itself back together, skin mending precisely back together until not even a scar remained.

               Ms. Aarden's cheek twitched, as if she was amused. She shook the arm with the ripped fabric passively, eyeing the demigod before her. Violet pulled out another arrow, looking for any spot Ms. Aarden left open for an attack. But Ms. Aarden was well-guarded, she figured that Ms. Aarden had a remarkable triumph in fighting all the demigods that had come before Violet Beaumont.

               Ms. Aarden lunged and Violet dodged. The demigod dropped the arrow in her hand, cursing. She tried to pick it up but Ms. Aarden reached out and grabbed Violet by the shirt, stepping on the arrow and snapping it in half.

               "I ought to kill you here and now," Ms. Aarden snarled like a vicious dog.

               Violet clawed at Ms. Aarden's hand, feeling the ripped skin gathering beneath her fingernails. She could feel her throat closing inward on itself. She could feel her lungs begging for air as her throat was closed off forcibly.

               A deep, weighty feeling of hatred started to settle in her stomach. It mixed horribly with the fear. She refused to die by Ms. Aarden's hands. She didn't want to die some tragic, horrible death. Just because she was a half-blood doesn't mean she had to die like one—especially so soon after finding out.

               She grabbed Ms. Aarden's wrist, squeezing as hard as she could. The monster didn't even seem phased. Violet changed her course of action, grabbing an arrow out of her quiver and bringing it over the top of her head with a wide arc.

               The Celestial bronze arrowhead scratched a deep line across the middle of Ms. Aarden's face. The monster let out a roar and dropped her grip on Violet's neck, clutching at the injury on her face.

               The demigod fell backward, coughing and sputtering. She reached for the bow at her side, scooting backward to gain more room between her and the monster. She used the bloodied arrow and shot at the monster.

               However, Ms. Aarden wasn't as injured as she appeared. This time she hadn't even bothered to heal the wound on her face, pouncing for Violet again. She rolled to her left, stumbling to her feet. Her head was pounding and her eyesight was hazy at best. She felt top-heavy and like she could topple over at any moment. There was no way Violet could try and shoot another arrow in the state she was in.

               She stumbled away, nearly dropping her bow again. She could hear the angry shouts of Ms. Aarden but it all seemed so far away.

               "You godly spawn!" Ms. Aarden spat loudly.

               When Violet looked over her shoulder, Ms. Aarden was blurry, three different figures at once. Her hair still looked like the color of hay, but there seemed to be a dark vapor surrounding her. It was as if the earth was starting to swallow her whole.

               Violet's legs shook as she turned around to face the monster. She tried raising her bow but her hands shook. Ms. Aarden seemed to understand just how weak she had made the demigod. She grinned cruelly, standing up taller, but still, the dark haze that surrounded her didn't go away.

               Violet sneered at the monster. The feeling of hatred seeped through the pit of her stomach and into her veins. She no longer felt much fear for the monster, only disgust. The longer she stood, the more tired she got. But the longer she stood, the more her vision started to repair itself. Perhaps if she could keep herself standing, her hands would stop shaking.

               The daughter of Eros walked backward slowly, making each step with care and precision. She didn't want to find a hole and make a tumble. Ms. Aarden trailed after the demigod with a grin half a mile wide. The monster was gloating proudly, but her movements were getting slower.

               The more Violet's vision improved, the three figures of Ms. Aarden disappeared, however, the dark haze remained. Maybe the earth was truly trying to take back the monster. Perhaps the dark haze was some godly intervention by Eros—if he could even do anything of the sort, that is.

               Ms. Aarden seemed to be realizing this, too, but she never stopped. The monster fought back, with each and every step she looked like she was trying to walk on the moon. A little spark of hope ignited in Violet's spirits, the hatred still bubbling at the bottom of her gut. She raised her bow, her hands only wavering slightly, and notched another arrow.

               When Violet let go of the string, the arrow flew through the air and hit Ms. Aarden straight in the chest. The monster was moving too slow now to dodge. When the arrow hit its mark, the small hill they were climbing on seemed to raise up and come crashing down on Ms. Aarden. The grass seemed to reach out and consume the monster.

               Ms. Aarden was swallowed by the greenery with a horrible wail. She cursed Violet's name, Elain's name, and Eros's name. Ms. Aarden promised to come back and make Violet pay. And when the screeching ceased, Violet lowered her bow, looking wildly for any sign of another rising monster. When it seemed the earth had settled with its one victim, Violet hurried to the road below her.

               It was truly like the hill had come alive on its own, coming to take back what had originally belonged to it. She saw the grass and foliage that had sprouted and reached out to claim back Ms. Aarden slither back into their original positions.

               Violet looked over her shoulder every five steps. Perhaps to see if Ms. Aarden had sprouted out of the earth again, perhaps to see if the hills would be rolling after her next, or perhaps Violet was looking to see if the foliage was going to reach out and capture her, too.

🌷 JAN. 3RD, 2023 / prologue to spring day!! i'm honestly not super happy with it

however, i do get a little giggly thinking of eros driving a van lol

and having to humanize luke- ew i did it bc i had to not bc i wanted to

the fight scene bothers me but i just want to be done with it

anyways, what do you guys think??

ms. aarden was never revealed what kind of monster she is, so what kind of monster do you think she is??

what are your guesses?? predictions? i really want to know!!

and if anyone is curious, the word count is around 12,184