Four.      line of lemures

As fate would have it, Eli's lack of a breakfast would come back to bite her—in hunger pains and hangry, snapped comments in the back of the van that caused every one of Argus's hundred eyes to side-eye her from the front seat.

The beginning of the ride started off smooth, decent sights soaring across the van windows and entertaining Luke and Eli as they traveled further from camp. Cloud-watching passed their time. Everything they did or said was rather menial, unimportant, because neither of them cared too much to want to actually address the fact that they were heading into something of which they had no semblance of a plan. If they had Annabeth with them, Eli knew they would have not only had a plan of action, but a daily agenda too—they'd be back at Camp Half-Blood within the week, golden apple in hand and celebrations encompassing their names.

But Annabeth was not with them—that much was evident from the lump of anxiety eating away at Eli's stomach.

Or was that hunger?

"Argus," Luke said, once they were about five minutes from the city, "I think you can drop us anywhere. We'll have to figure it out on our own."

Argus saluted Luke, but did not respond otherwise. Eli thought about the rumor that there was an eye smack-dab in the middle of his tongue, then shuddered.

New York City was decorated beautifully for the holidays. Red and green Christmas lights strung from building alcoves, across streets and corners, their unlit bulbs shining in the grey light of winter sun. It hadn't snowed yet in New York—too early in the season—but it was still cold as all get out. Not for the first time, Eli wondered why Hermes had chosen now to give Luke his quest. Usually demigods embarked on their quests during the summertime, because the majority of them were out of school for a few months and the weather was all-around nicer. Nobody wanted to trudge through feet of snow to across the country.

But, if she was being honest, Eli loved the winter. It was her favorite season. The weather wasn't exactly perfect, but she loved seeing the snow, how it glistened as it fell every year like clockwork. And her favorite holiday was Christmas—that spoke for itself.

Luke glanced up at the decorations adorning the streets as Argus paused at a red light, then gave Eli a smile. "It's almost your holiday."

She tipped her head to the side, beaming. "It's just beautiful, Luke. I'm never in New York for Christmas. Am I too much of a tourist if I say I want to see the Rockefeller tree before we leave the city?"

"Probably," he admitted, then shrugged his shoulders listlessly. "If you think this is cool, you've gotta see Christmas at camp."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why? Do they go all-out the day after I leave each year, or something?"

He broke into a laugh. "Hell no. Chiron barely strings one strand of lights over the Big House. That was more an excuse to ask you if you've reconsidered my Christmas invitation."

Her smile melted slightly. A few weeks ago, Luke had offered Eli the chance to stay at Camp Half-Blood to celebrate the holidays with the rest of their friends, exchange gifts on actual Christmas Day rather than waiting for Eli to get back from Vermont. But she had spent every Christmas with her father since she was born—every year, Argus drove up a slew of year-round campers to the airport to go home for two weeks around the holidays. Eli took the opportunity every year. She just missed her dad too much to spend full years away from him.

But Luke had started to express a sadness about her leaving every year—like he couldn't stand to be away from her at all, and definitely not for two weeks straight. Even if she would only be a short flight away, and even though he knew she would be returning after the new year.

The first time he asked her to stay, explicitly, instead of just implying that he didn't want her to go, was the year before. She had almost considered it, too, but Atlas pointed out how often she saw Luke versus how little she saw her dad.

This year, Eli was trying to find a way to let him down easy again. She'd told him she would think about it. The truth was—she'd had her mind made up for a long time. She would obviously be going back home to her dad.

She just hadn't clued Luke in on that yet. Whoops.

When she looked over to him, he was already watching her, his eyes dancing with that hopeful sort of glimmer that often occupied his gaze. Eli had always found that you could find many things out about a person just by looking them in the eyes, and Luke was no exception. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and he wore his emotions in his eyes.

"Luke," she whispered, her eyes squinting with embarrassment of the awkward conversation she knew she was facing. She inhaled to start speaking.

Then the car lurched to a stop. Eli and Luke turned to the front of the car.

Argus was gesturing to the standstill traffic in front of them, clearly frustrated, every one of his hundred eyes glaring ahead. He gave the backseat a hand gesture that might have been apologetic.

"So we should get out... here?" Luke asked, throwing Argus a line.

Argus nodded.

"In the middle of traffic?" Eli muttered to Luke, but he just shrugged, and the pair of them grabbed their bags, climbing out of the back of Argus's van and into New York City's holiday traffic.

For a moment, they just stood there, on either side of the van. Both of them glanced around in search of anything to guide them. Then Eli's stomach grumbled—she lifted a hand to it, cringing.

Luke raised his eyebrows at her. "There's a soft pretzel stand at the corner of this street. Lunch before we go? My treat."

"No, no." Eli flashed him a smile, lifting her bag. "Lux's treat."

Ten minutes later, Eli was chewing on a cold soft pretzel, the salt scratching the roof of her mouth like it was made of granite. Her hunger had scarfed down three bites of blindness before she realized what she was eating, and she stopped mid-chew, turning to Luke.

He was watching the traffic pass by, his pretzel untouched. They were sitting on a bench facing the road. The metal seat had been unbearably cold at first, but either Eli had grown accustomed to it by then, or her own body heat had warmed up her spot, because she was rather comfortable now. Luke had his arm around her.

Her eyes were stuck on his pretzel for a moment. He hadn't yet tried his. If she said anything, she wondered if he would try it. Or if he would just take her word for it.

She tilted her head a tad. That was interesting. She didn't usually wonder those kinds of things about Luke—she would either already know him well enough to know the answer, or she wouldn't even think the question in the first place.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, unable to stomach the thought of not knowing what was going on in his mind any longer.

He blinked, coming back to himself. His eyes flickered over to her just for a second. He nodded across the street. "Just watching Santa try and hassle 'donations' from passersby while his elf pickpockets them from behind. Very Christmas Spirit of them."

He didn't turn to face her while he was talking to her. It took her by surprise, admittedly, but what was she going to do? Throw her pretzel on the ground and scream in a fit of rage because her boyfriend wasn't looking at her? She'd sound like a boy-crazy cheerleader in any 2000's rom-com movie ever. Plus it wasn't that she didn't like him not looking at her—she was just confused. He normally gave her his full attention.

Gods, she sounded like a brat. My boyfriend isn't looking at me, so I'm going to ignore him for the rest of the day. Something about leaving Camp Half-Blood must have messed with her mind, or something.

Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, Eli hummed. She managed another bite of her pretzel. "Santa isn't usually the one to be taking things, you'd think."

"Well," said Luke thoughtfully, "I guess he isn't taking anything. That would be his elf. And they always do the dirty work, anyway. Didn't you see Prep And Landing?"

She laughed. "I'm sorry, what is that? Is it some sort of movie about wayward Christmas elves that cause destruction and chaos at Santa's bidding?"

He wobbled his head side to side like he was weighing something in his mind. "Eh.. essentially, yeah."

"Sounds awful," she said, turning forward again, taking another bite of her rubbery pretzel. Then she decided to bite the bullet. "Have you thought anymore about this quest, Luke?"

He didn't say anything. Eli didn't like how closed-off he had become since leaving camp.

She sighed. "Luke, it's not going to happen if we keep sitting here not-eating these... shitty pretzels. We need a plan. We need to know what to do. We need to—"

Eli faltered, barely noticing that Luke hadn't looked at her once since she started talking. Her eyes narrowed in on something across the street. She tapped Luke's shoulder, not taking her eyes off of this thing, for fear of it disappearing if she so much as blinked. He was absorbed in his own thoughts.

Finally she hit him. "Luke!"

He turned to her, either unbothered or having not noticed her insistence. "What?"

She nodded to what had caught her eye.

A large building, made of white stone, embellished with columns, large windows, limestone roofing, and a domed ceiling. It was many stories tall and wider than the other buildings surrounding it, and had an entire well-tended lawn bordering its boundaries. Just looking at it, Eli could tell that this was an official building—perhaps governmental. But that wasn't what intrigued her.

What had gotten her attention was the line of people extending out the main doors and trailing all the way down to a stop in front of Eli and Luke—at least two blocks' worth of people waiting. It looked like the night before a big video game was being released in stores, or a venue where tickets to a concert were being sold. These people must have been exhausted, in line for something that must have been worth days of waiting. Or they were very patient people.

Then, narrowing her eyes to focus her vision, Eli realized they weren't people—they were ghosts. Translucent and blue-tinged, floating a few inches above the cement ground, dazed expressions on their faces. Mortals were skirting around them like they weren't even there. Some walked right through them, then stopped, their shoulders tensing like they'd just felt a cool breeze.

"Woah," Luke whispered, his brow furrowed as he gazed at the line. "What is that?"

Eli inhaled sharply, gathering her bag and dagger and standing. "Well, I don't know much about what the line is for, but I do know one thing. That—" she pointed to the building where the line of ghosts was spilling out of, "—is New York Town Hall."

Luke turned to Eli, giving her a curious look. "You think these guys are in line to cast their votes in the election, or something?"

Eli scoffed, shouldering her bag. "Only one way to find out. Come on—if you don't want to finish your pretzel, throw it out. Honestly... I suggest you throw it out either way."

He did, and they gathered their things, slinging bags over their shoulders and sliding weapons back into their sheaths. Luke's sword would have stuck out in New York like a lightning rod, Eli thought, but the Mist was doing a mighty fine job of covering it covertly; sometimes even she had to squint her eyes, unable to tell if he really had a banana strapped to his thigh or not. Then she wondered what her own dagger looked like to the mortals—with her luck, she thought, it was probably a toothbrush or something.

Eli pulled her hood over her head as they made their inconspicuous way down a street labeled West 43rd, and Luke kept his head down for the most part. It was sort of an unspoken rule that demigods keep a low-profile when it came to the real world, because they would attract monsters without even trying. So why make it harder on themselves?

As they approached the Town Hall, the building looming overhead and casting shadows across the faces of the ghosts waiting down 43rd, Eli risked a glance at the line.

Each of the spirits seemed extremely put-out, or sad—almost like a kid that had been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

"These are lemures," she muttered to Luke as they passed the slumped figures, both she and Luke watching the spirits out of the sides of their eyes. "They usually wandered Ancient Rome and caused mischief or malice among the towns. I guess they do the same things in New York, but I just don't understand what they're doing waiting in line for something."

"Maybe they are trying to vote in the primaries," said Luke, and he flashed Eli a smile. She rolled her eyes.

Luke pushed the left side of the double doors open, sliding inside past the line of ghosts. None of them complained or even looked their way. Maybe you get used to waiting when you're in the afterlife. After all, it is just a bunch of dead time.

"Woah," said Luke, holding the door open behind himself for Eli to come inside. He gazed around the entrance hall with a mystified sort of look on his face. "Look at this place."

Woah was right. The main doors dumped them into a foyer that seemed straight out of a castle. At the center of the room were two arched staircases, twisting down from a second-story balcony. The entire room was domed with curved white walls and gold accents. Tall columns supported the semicircle of a ceiling, polished white marble extending up as far as Eli could see. It felt like she had stepped out of New York and into a Disney movie.

The ghosts didn't seem as entranced by the entrance hall as Luke and Eli were. They kept staring ahead, floating listlessly and moping about. Their line curved up the right side of the split staircase.

Luke looked to Eli. "Think this has anything to do with the quest?"

She pursed her lips, pulling her hood down. Around of them was no more doors or entrances other than the two staircases, so it seemed they only had one way to go. The question was just whether or not to take it.

Eli let her eyes follow the line of ghosts until they disappeared into a doorway upstairs. She sighed.

They followed the lemures.

Again, the spirits didn't seem bothered by being overtaken by two living demigods. None of them tried to stop Luke or Eli, or complained about being cut. Eli wondered how long they had truly been waiting—if this was what the afterlife was, Eli thought, then she had absolutely no fancy for dying anytime soon.

Luke led the way, skirting along the path the line carried them. The stairs were marble, and as clean as humanly possible. Some part of Eli wondered whether mortal feet ever touched the ground in Town Hall, or if they just thought the building was for show, because it clearly hadn't been inhabited by humans for a long time. Just ghosts, waiting.

The line led Luke and Eli into the first doorway on their right after climbing the stairs, and after that, a long hallway with dark wood walls and low lighting. Wooden benches were pressed against each of the walls down the length of the hall, but none of the ghosts were taking advantage of them.

As they crept further in, Eli slowly reached down to unhook her dagger. Something about this place was unsettling, she just couldn't put her finger on what. Maybe it was the odd clicking noise coming from the end of the hall.

When they finally reached the far end of the corridor they were faced with yet another door. The line of ghosts finally ended—or began—at the threshold, the first spirit in line waiting patiently for his turn to go in, his hands folded in front of himself. He had on a pirate's get-up, complete with what looked to be a peg-leg.

Eli glanced to Luke. He shrugged, then ducked inside the office.

The source of the clicking noise revealed itself immediately: A middle-aged woman with a tight black bun at the base of her head and thin black glasses atop her nose was typing incessantly at her old computer monitor behind a mahogany desk. She had a long, thin nose, red lips, and eyeliner curved like sharp wings over her eyes. She wore a navy pantsuit with a tie that had a laurel leaves all across it. Something about her face reminded Eli of Themis, or at least what she'd seen of her in the dream state.

The woman didn't look up from her computer when Luke and Eli entered.

Luke cleared his throat. "Ma'am, we—"

"No skipping the line," she told him, still not looking up. "If you have a complaint about the wait time, come back in a few hundred years. It will have shrunk."

Luke looked to Eli, blinking. Then he turned back to the woman behind the desk. "But—"

"All legislation requests and regulation complaints may be filed here if you do not wish to wait." She pointed a thin finger to a box on the corner of her desk and a stack of notecards next to it. "Otherwise, please proceed to the end of the line."

Luke tried again, placing his hands on the edge of her desk. "But ma'am, we—"

"Spiritual guiding is down the hall to the left," she offered, clearly running down a mental script as to all the things she'd dealt with in her years as a secretary. Still she didn't look up from her computer. "A counselor will meet you at the door. Process takes about twenty hours, forty if you want the spa package."

"We're not ghosts," Eli cut in, before the woman could interrupt her. "We're living."

Finally, the woman lifted her eyes. Behind her glasses, they were an otherworldly kind of hazel color, flecked with grey and green, depending on how the light hit them. It took Eli a second to remember that this woman was probably a monster.

"So you are," the secretary said, pursing her lips tightly. She quit her typing. "What business do you have in Town Hall? Voting? Aren't you a little young to be—?"

"Dike, it's alright," came a muffled voice from the other room, the closed door at the corner of the secretary's office housing what must have been her boss. The voice was familiar to Eli—she wondered where she'd heard it last. She said the secretary's name like it rhymed with Nike. Eli racked her mind, but she didn't know any monsters with such a name.

"Mother," sighed Dike, leaning back in her rolling chair and giving the door a glare. "They cut the line! That's not orderly at all."

"Oh, but I know them, dear," called the voice. "They're with me. Send them on in; I'm sure it won't take too long."

Dike turned back in her chair toward Luke and Eli, giving them a mystical-looking glare. She pursed her lips and pressed the eraser of a pencil to a red button. The door behind her swung open.

"Don't take too long," Dike told them, still glaring as they skirted around her desk. "It'd be incredibly rude of you. There's a whole line of lemures waiting their turn."

"Yes, ma'am," Luke said, before he and Eli stepped into the back office of Dike's mother.

The office was decorated very much like any high school principals office would have been—bland and boring, straight out of a movie from the 1950's. The desk was adorned with perfectly-straightened supplies; pencils sitting exactly parallel to each other, stapler approximately four inches away from those, papers straightened just right and sitting in front of the leather desk chair. Its owner was nowhere to be found, at first. Behind the chair was a grey plaque that read "The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice. – Martin Luther King, Jr."

Then Eli gasped. Her eyes darted to the window, where the owner of the office was standing. At first, she only faced her back toward the demigods, stirring what seemed to be a coffee cup in her hands. Then the woman turned, somehow feeling Eli's eyes on her.

She had the same black hair Eli had seen in her dream, though now it was pulled back into a tight bun. Her lips were the same wine-red. Instead of robes, she wore a pantsuit almost identical to her daughter's, though instead of laurel leaves decorating her tie, it was plain brown. She had a blindfold of the same color wrapped tied over her eyes.

"Hello, heroes," Themis said brightly. "I'm so glad to finally meet you!"

Via SPEAKS 💜

Had to include a little note for how Dike is pronounced cause . I am not catching a case over this. DAIKEY. . Thank you America and goodnight.

This entire chapter was Eli wondering many things. Most especially why Luke is growing distant Hmmm

A Themisnomenon is taking pkace