A camp for misfits
Children of ancient Greek gods
That's where I belong

⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

"So you're saying I'm not schizo and all the things I'm seeing are real?"

Hedge is not making me feel better about my split-second decision to get in his car with all the talk of monsters and gods, but what was I supposed to do? Once I heard the sirens, all caution was thrown to the wind.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Huh. At least he doesn't beat around the bush. To whatever gods are out there, if you're out there like Hedge says, show me a sign that I'm not making the worst decision of my life, I pray. After so long of thinking I'm insane and going to therapy training my brain to see the world normally, my mind whirs at twice the speed to process this new information.

I let my gaze wander out the window of Hedge's chipped, orange pick-up truck and rest my chin on my hand. The world flies by in a blur of colors that bounces up and down with the truck. Honestly, he really isn't a great driver and my stomach would agree.

"Hey, I know this song!" My eyes flick to the radio. The blocky green letters flash I Know Places, Taylor Swift.

"'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes."

Hedge glances over at me and then right back to the road to swerve back into our lane. Eyes on the road, he says, "Oh yeah? They let you listen to music in the asy- I mean, psych-" he makes a sound that sounds like a cross between a cough and a bleat, "mental hospital."

"They are the hunters, we are the foxes. And we run."

"I got an exception, but my mp3 player only had Taylor Swift downloaded," I explain, reaching for my pocket only to find it empty. "No. No, no, no, no! My mp3 player! I must've left it behind."

"Baby, I know places we won't be found."

Gleeson leans down to move his seat up a little more and I get whiplash from the random burst of speed his distraction causes. "Do they still make those things?" He asks, scratching his beard.

"They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down."

Before I can answer, Hedge glances at his window. "If they do, I bet we can find one in there."

I follow the path his finger paints to see a giant shopping mall just off the freeway.

"We can make a quick pitstop and then head to camp. We have time. Probably," he mutters almost as if convincing himself which isn't very convincing to me. "Besides, we've got to get you cultured. Have you ever had Auntie Anne's pretzels? Or Orange Julius? No, Dole Whip! Gods, it's like a little taste of Elysium wrapped up in a styrofoam cup."

I have no idea what this man, sorry, goat-man is going on about, but I would really like my mp3 player back. Seeing as going back for it is not an option...

"'Cause I, I know places we can hide."

Is that my sign? I ask the heavens. Hiding would certainly be welcome and who better to confirm my worries than T-Swizzle herself?

"Sure," I say. In Taylor we trust. What's the worst that could happen?

•─────• ☾ ☀ ☽ •─────•

Rule number one of being a demigod: if you ask dumb questions such as what's the worst that could happen, prepare to be jinxed. Or in the wise words of my idol, "Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes."

Finding an mp3 player was easy enough, surprising as that may be- after studying a map, we were able to find a little electronics store on the second floor that had a whole collection- but getting Hedge back out proved to be a much more difficult task. I barely had enough time to shove the little device in my pocket before my hands were being filled with all sorts of confections.

Hedge hands a few bills to a man behind a concession counter and trades them for a cup filled with tiny colored beads. "Human currency," he mumbles to me through a mouth full of play-dough Dip 'n' Dots, "makes no sense to me. Why would they give up perfectly good food in exchange for green paper that tastes like dirt. Disgusting."

"You've got that right," I say, not bothering to question why he'd tasted money. "On average, there's three thousand types of bacteria on a single bill."

"Only a demigod would spout facts like that." Gleeson rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of the styrofoam cup as we walk, hopefully back to the truck.

"Hi!" A peppy voice turns my head. "Would you like to try a free sample?"

A dark haired man holds out a tiny glass perfume bottle. His beard, falling to his belly button, is so thick that I can't see his mouth behind all the hair, but I can hear a smile in his voice. Pinned to his black polo shirt is a name tag that reads 'Jericho.'

I lift my hand to refuse, but Hedge happily agrees and squirts the contents of the bottle onto his tongue. My eyes widen and I look at Jericho, preparing an explanation for my guide's strange behavior, but the kiosk worker is unfazed as though his merchandise is regularly taste-tested. Hedge smacks his lips in consideration and then pops the entire perfume bottle into his mouth, chomping on the glass with a crunch.

"Would you like to try Apple Blossom Jeans or Lavender Haze?" Jericho offers, snapping his fingers to signal to his partner. The woman, who's hair is equally impressive seeing as it falls down to her waist, produces two bottles. "They're two of our most popular scents!"

My eyes immediately flick to the lilac colored perfume, swirling with sparkling glitter flecks that embody the song it shares it's name with, then to the woman holding it. Her name tag reads 'Araj,' but my immediate focus goes to the blue face mask she wears just below her nose. I hide my grimace, but honestly, doesn't she know that wearing it only on her mouth defeats the entire purpose?

Hedge greedily takes the offered samples and nods appreciatively, a hazy look crossing his eyes. I take his arm and try to pull him away, whispering, "Let's go. You're not going to buy that anyway."

He doesn't seem to hear me. "How much for one of each?"

I cast him an appalled look. The kiosk is made up of dozens of tiny bleacher-like shelves that wrap around the table. On top of each shelf are rows of three ounces bottles containing colorful galaxies of swirling perfumes.

"Gleeson," I hiss. What is he doing?

The satyr ignores me again.

"We have an array of seventy five different scents and each bottle is upwards of thirty six dollars!" Araj says happily. She pulls out a sleek black paper bag with the words Astomi Aporroi in swirling silver letters and carefully places bottle after bottle into it.

"Woah, woah, woah, thirty six dollars per bottle?" I exclaim. I've been out of the marketing society for a long time, but not long enough to not understand the concept of expense.

Jericho smiles with his eyes. "Upwards of thirty six dollars. That won't be a problem, will it? Would you like to sample Floral Blush? It's very popular amongst young teens like yourself!"

"Yes please," Hedge answers even though I have a rather large amount of evidence insinuating that he was talking to me. My protector's eyes drift up as he tastes the rose colored perfume and he moans in delight.

I grit my teeth and grab him by the arm. "Thank you," I say to the kiosk workers, "but we better be going."

Araj's dainty stilettos clink against the tile floor as she moves to block our path. Her black hair swishes in her frenzy. "Wait, you haven't bought anything yet! You can't leave so soon! You haven't even tried Gardenia's Secret!"

"No thank you," I mutter, swatting Hedge's hand down when he reaches out for the bottle.

"Carnation Bliss?" Jericho offers, stepping into our way beside his partner. "Sweet Pea's in a Pod?"

Stupidly, persistent kiosk workers. "No, not today, thank you."

"Peony Passion?" Araj adds desperately.

"No! We're not interested!" I say loudly. A little too loudly perhaps. Both kiosk workers drop their hands to their sides, thick eyebrows furrowing in an almost threatening way. I glance to Hedge and silently plead for help, but his eyes are glazed over by a silver sheen that looks suspiciously like the sparkles featured in all of Astomi Aporroi's fragrances. Almost as though he'd been poisoned.

Monsters, I deduce. These are the monsters Hedge warned me against.