The Triumph Herald's tires screeched as Gabe swerved off the freeway, barreling into Los Angeles with all the grace of a wrecking ball. The sudden jolt sent me slamming into the door, my half-asleep brain scrambling to keep up. My legs, stiff and aching from hours of not moving, buzzed with pins and needles — for a second, I genuinely thought I was mutating into some kind of fish. My muscles felt cold and sluggish, like I was halfway to growing scales — or at least more than I already had.
Then I realized I'd just been sitting weird for too long.
"Ohhhh yeah," Gabe groaned from the driver's seat, twisting his neck until it popped. "Sin City, baby!" He grinned like he'd just personally founded Las Vegas himself. "Smell that? That's the sweet scent of opportunity."
"More like exhaust fumes," I grumbled.
Sugar chuckled from the passenger seat, low and dry. She was still calm and collected — not a hair out of place, her red lipstick still sharp enough to cut glass. She'd spent the entire trip alternating between silently brooding, sassing Gabe, and parenting me, but now she seemed... almost relaxed.
"Relax, sweetie," she drawled, filing her nails like we hadn't just spent fifteen hours in a car. "The fun's just starting."
That was what worried me.
The city seemed to stretch in every direction — an endless sprawl of palm trees, billboards, and packed sidewalks. People swarmed past, shouting in half a dozen languages. Weirdly enough I could understand them... there was a lot of swearing. Gabe kept swerving, barely paying attention to traffic lights as he scanned the streets for something. I assumed he was lost.
Then I saw the flashing lights.
Neon signs lined the road like a carnival gone wrong — oversized dice flickering in red and gold, blinking arrows promising Easy Money! and Jackpot Dreams!. The air practically hummed with noise — slot machines chiming, fake applause from inside the buildings, and announcers hyping up games through tinny speakers.
Casinos. Gabe's idea of paradise.
"Oh yeah," Gabe grinned. "This is it."
I groaned. "Please tell me this isn't happening."
"Kid," Gabe said, eyes still on the lights, "you don't tell me how to spend my money."
"You mean Mom's money," I said under my breath.
"What'd you say?"
"Nothing." I slouched down in my seat, already resigned to my fate.
We stopped at the first casino — some rundown joint called The Golden Palm. The gold paint on the sign had flaked off in places, and one of the plastic palm trees out front was missing half its leaves. Gabe didn't care. He charged inside like a man on a mission.
For a while, I just followed him, trying to stay invisible. The flashing lights made my head pound, and the constant jingling of coins felt like someone shaking maracas in my skull.
When we hit the third casino, I finally thought I'd catch a break — the guy at the entrance squinted at me and said, "No minors."
Yes, I thought. Freedom.
But before I could escape, Gabe shoved me toward Sugar and grunted, "Watch the kid."
"Great," I muttered.
"Don't worry kid, you'll love it," Sugar shot back, sounding genuinely thrilled.
And so it went.
For hours, Sugar dragged me from one garish gambling pit to the next. She didn't play — just strolled through the maze of machines and blackjack tables like she owned the place. She kept a sharp eye on Gabe, occasionally saying stuff under her breath whenever he lost yet another round.
I, meanwhile, was about two steps away from curling up in a corner and giving up on my afterlife, because I was positive that this was hell.
"It's been hours!" I groaned at last, slumping dramatically against a wall. "I was scared I was gonna devolve into a fish — then I realized it was just my legs."
Sugar let out a genuine laugh — not her usual smug little snort, but an actual laugh. "You think you're suffering?" she said. "Try being stuck with Gabe and you for fifteen hours straight."
"Yeah?" I shot back. "At least you didn't almost grow gills."
Before she could answer, Gabe stumbled out of a poker room, looking about three drinks past sober. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair messier than usual, and in one fist he clutched a handful of crumpled bills like he'd just conquered the world.
"Jackpot!" he roared. "We're eatin' good tonight!"
I squinted at his 'winnings.' "That's... twelve bucks, an expired coupon for denny's, four monopoly dollar's, and a losing lottery ticket."
"Yeah," Sugar added flatly. "That's not even gas money."
Gabe scowled, waving his cash like it might magically increase in value. "Smart mouths," he muttered. "Both of ya."
"Don't," Sugar warned, her voice dropping low. She didn't even raise her voice — didn't have to. Gabe grumbled something under his breath and staggered back toward the roulette tables.
I sighed, waiting for Sugar to scold me for mouthing off. Instead, she just crossed her arms and smirked. "You know," she said, "you're not half bad, kid."
I snorted. "Gee. Thanks."
We stood there for a while, watching the endless parade of tourists lose their life savings. Somewhere across the room, Gabe's voice rang out again — this time cheering because someone handed him a free drink.
My gaze drifted around the casino, trying to ignore the flashing lights and the overwhelming noise. But something caught my eye—a faint golden glow in the corner of my vision, tucked among a tangle of ivy on a tree-like bough. I blinked, confused. Was this part of the casino decor? It didn't make sense in the chaos of neon lights and gambling machines.
Curious, I stepped away from Sugar and moved closer, my steps drawn to the tree as if some invisible force was pulling me in. The golden glow flickered again, now clearly emanating from a stick-like object wedged between the branches. My fingers tingled as I reached out, the allure of it undeniable.
I grasped the stick, feeling a pulse of energy surge through my hand. It was warm, almost alive. There was something deeply familiar about it, yet foreign at the same time. The power it radiated seemed to hum, resonating with something deep inside of me—something I couldn't explain.
Without thinking, I pulled it free from its resting place, the moment I touched it sending a wave of strange, vivid sensations coursing through me. I stared at the golden stick, unable to tear my eyes away from it.
"Hey, kid, what are you—"
I turned quickly, snapping out of my daze, and saw Sugar standing behind me, a bemused look on her face. She hadn't even tried to stop me from taking the thing.
I hesitated for a moment, still gripped by an odd compulsion to hold onto the stick. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. The way it glowed, the way it seemed to pulse with power—it felt... important. But why?
I turned back to Sugar, still trying to process what had just happened. "You're... weird," I said, frowning slightly.
She raised an eyebrow, and for a split second I couldn't quite read her expression. She wasn't laughing, wasn't being sarcastic. It was almost like she was... considering me. Something about her felt different, just as strange as the glowing stick in my hand.
The unreadable presence quickly disappeared as she gained a smile. "Yeah?" she said. "Well, you're sharp." She flicked her nail file shut, slipping it back into her purse. "Just... don't push your luck."
I had no idea what she meant by that. But from the way she said it — calm, cool, and just a little too confident — I figured it wasn't something I wanted to test.
We left the casino shortly after. Sugar strolled ahead like she hadn't just casually threatened me with... whatever that was. I followed, glancing back at the flickering casino lights. Somewhere inside, Gabe was probably betting his twelve bucks on a roulette table and losing it all in the span of five minutes.
Outside, the air felt cooler — not exactly refreshing, but better than the stale, cigarette-soaked air inside. The streets were just as chaotic as before, with tourists clogging the sidewalks and taxis honking like it was a competitive sport.
"You ever wonder why Gabe's still alive?" Sugar asked suddenly.
I blinked, twirling around my golden stick. "Uh... what?"
She didn't look at me, just kept walking like she'd asked about the weather. "Guy's been mouthing off to the wrong people for years," she said. "Someone should've knocked him out by now — or worse."
I wasn't sure what to say to that. I didn't like thinking about Gabe — not because I'd feel bad for him if something happened, but because I knew how close I'd come to being the one to do it.
"I dunno," I said. "Guess he's just lucky."
Sugar snorted. "Lucky's one word for it."
She paused at a crosswalk, pretending to check her reflection in a nearby storefront window. "But sometimes," she added, "it's not just luck."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You ever get the feeling..." She tapped her nail against the glass. "...like something's looking out for you?"
Her voice had shifted — softer, but somehow heavier. Like she was testing me.
I opened my mouth to say no — but the memory of that night with Gabe hit me hard. The way I'd grabbed that broken bottle, the cold rage in my chest, the look on Mom's face as I flew out the window... The whole thing still played in my head sometimes, like a movie I couldn't turn off.
"I don't know," I said finally. "Maybe."
Sugar's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah," she muttered. "Maybe."
We started walking again, but Sugar didn't say anything else right away. When she finally spoke, her tone was casual — too casual. "You ever hear about the... weird stuff around here?"
"Weird how?"
"Old stories," she said with a shrug. "Monsters, curses — junk like that."
I laughed. "You mean like the Jersey Devil?"
"Sure," she said. "The Jersey Devil." She glanced at me sideways. "But other stuff, too — things that hide in plain sight. Things you only notice if you're paying attention."
That... didn't sound like her usual nonsense. From the sleepless days I'd spent with her, I had learned that Sugar liked to talk big, but this felt different — like she knew something and was waiting to see if I'd figure it out.
"I think you've been watching too many horror movies," I said.
"Yeah," she said dryly. "That's it."
We crossed the street, stepping into a busier crowd. Sugar kept glancing over her shoulder like she expected someone to follow us.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Fine," she said quickly. Too quickly.
We kept walking, but the air felt tense between us. Something about the way she was moving, like she was constantly scanning the crowd, made me uneasy. Gabe had been long forgotten in the back of my mind, but now that Sugar was on high alert, I found myself looking around, too.
Then, just as I was about to ask if she was really okay, Gabe stumbled out of a bar across the street, yelling something unintelligible as he waved his crumpled cash in the air. His face was flushed with alcohol, and he seemed utterly unphased by the world around him.
"Kid!" Gabe shouted, lurching over in our direction, completely ignoring the confusion and irritation from pedestrians trying to avoid him. "Come on! We're gonna get something to eat!"
I rolled my eyes. I wasn't even hungry, but it felt like I was on autopilot at this point, just going along with whatever was happening around me.
Sugar didn't even flinch when Gabe reached us. She just eyed him with a blank expression, a flicker of something I couldn't quite read flashing in her eyes before she sighed.
"I thought you said we were going to get food," I muttered to Gabe.
Gabe grinned like a drunk child, slinging his arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. I got us covered." He looked at Sugar and then gave her a smirk. "Hey, I know a great place. They got the best food in town." He seemed so proud of himself, but something about the way he was acting made my stomach churn.
"Where?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to know.
"Place called 'The Dazzler,' kid," he said. "We'll eat in the family section, but they got plenty to keep you entertained. Come on, come on. You'll love it."
My brows furrowed, but I followed along anyway. As we crossed the street, the bright neon lights of a strip club blared above us. It took me a second to realize where we were headed. The Dazzler wasn't a regular restaurant.
"Gabe this is a fucking Strip Club," Sugar said, glaring at him in anger.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Sugar's voice had gone cold — not the fake-sweet edge she usually used to cut people down, but actual anger. I'd only heard it once before, back when Gabe started cussing me out for not taking off my shoes before getting into the Herald and Sugar nearly broke his fingers on the dashboard.
Now that same tone was back, and Gabe, naturally, was too drunk to notice or care.
He just grinned wider, throwing his arms out like a game show host. "C'mon, don't be such a prude! Family section's in the back, kid's menu and everything. Ain't my fault they got the best wings in the county." He looked over his shoulder at the flickering neon sign. "'The Dazzler.' You hear that? It's dazzling."
I looked up at the blinking silhouette of a woman twirling around a pole and nearly choked. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Think of it as a cultural experience," Gabe said, already pulling me by the arm toward the door. "Besides, kid's gotta grow up sometime."
"I'm twelve!" I snapped.
"You're tall for your age," he muttered.
I mean he wasn't wrong, I'm like 5'5 and Percy's only 4'11.
Sugar didn't follow immediately. She stood there at the curb, jaw tight, arms crossed. "You take him in there, Gabe, and I swear to Posei—" She caught herself, mouth snapping shut like a mousetrap. "—I swear to whatever greasy rat-god you pray to, you'll wish you'd been struck by lightning."
That was... oddly specific.
But Gabe, of course, just laughed. "Relax, will ya? We're not takin' him backstage. Place has rules. He'll be fine. Come on, Sugarplum."
He should not have called her Sugarplum.
She followed, heels clicking against the pavement like they were counting down to someone's funeral.
Inside, The Dazzler was every kind of awful I'd imagined. Flashing lights, loud music, way too much perfume in the air. The woman at the front — dressed like someone's idea of a sexy librarian — gave us a weird look until Gabe muttered something about the "family section," and she rolled her eyes and waved us through.
We were seated at a table in a sad corner under a flickering Budweiser sign. The stage was barely visible from here, but the thump-thump of bass shook the booth like a heartbeat. There were a few other poor souls around — tired-looking dads, bored teens scrolling through phones, a toddler eating mozzarella sticks with absolute focus.
I envied the toddler.
"See?" Gabe said, kicking back and smacking a menu onto the sticky table. "Classy joint."
Sugar didn't sit. She stood next to the table with her arms crossed like she was trying to evaporate the furniture with her eyes. "I swear," she muttered, "if one dancer so much as glances in his direction, I will bring this place down."
"Yeah, yeah," Gabe grumbled, waving her off. "Get off your high horse."
We ordered food. Gabe got chicken wings. I got a sad grilled cheese. Sugar didn't eat — just kept staring at the front entrance like she expected it to explode.
And that's when the Pimp walked in.
You just knew he was a Pimp. It was in the fur coat, the rings, the shades, the air of someone who walked like they owned everything and everyone inside. He looked around the club like he was inspecting his kingdom, then zeroed in on something — or someone — at a VIP booth.
He passed our table.
Gabe whistled.
Loudly.
The kind of whistle that makes a statement.
The kind of whistle that made everyone turn.
"Hot damn!" Gabe slurred, tipping his chair back as he stared at the Pimp's girl — a tall woman in glittery heels and a dress made of spiderwebs. "What's she cost per hour, big guy?"
Silence.
You could've heard a feather drop.
The Pimp stopped mid-step. Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, he turned his head and lowered his glasses just enough to glare at Gabe directly.
"Excuse me?" he said. His voice was soft, but it had teeth.
Gabe just laughed. "Relax, I'm just playin'. I mean, unless you got a group discount."
Sugar stepped between them so fast I barely saw her move.
"Apologize," she said, eyes locked on Gabe, voice low and vibrating like a held-back storm. "Now."
But Gabe was too far gone. "Oh, what, we can't joke around anymore? Ain't my fault he brought his talent out in public."
The Pimp didn't raise his voice. He didn't move.
He just smiled.
A smile that meant someone was about to lose something — dignity, money, teeth.
I hoped it was teeth.
"That your man?" the Pimp asked Sugar.
She didn't answer. Just stared at Gabe with a look like she was mentally measuring the size of a coffin.
Then the Pimp turned to me.
"And the kid?"
I tensed.
Sugar took one step closer to me. "No." It came out like a warning shot.
The Pimp nodded. "Shame," he said quietly. "Y'all should leave. Before I get offended."
Gabe, naturally, didn't shut up. "Who even are you supposed to be? Huggy Bear?"
(DGW: Huggy bear is character played by Antonio Fargas. who often dressed in a flashy manner and operated his own bar)
And that's when Sugar slammed her hand down on the table.
It cracked.
The table cracked.
The whole booth shook.
"Get. Up," she said to Gabe. "We're leaving."
He looked like he was going to argue, but her eyes — oh my days, her eyes — were locked onto him like she'd already decided where to bury the body.
Gabe blinked. Swallowed.
Stood.
We left in silence.
I glanced back once. The Pimp was still standing there, watching us go, his sunglasses back on, like he knew something we didn't.
Outside, the sky had darkened. Streetlights buzzed to life. Sugar didn't say anything as we walked. Gabe muttered something about people being too sensitive these days.
And me?
I held that golden stick in my pocket.
I didn't know what it was.
But I was starting to think I might need it.
I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie pocket, my fingers brushing the smooth, warm surface of the golden stick. It pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own, like it knew something.
Sugar walked ahead of me, stiff, quiet, the slap of her heels sharp against the pavement like punctuation marks. Gabe was trailing behind, mumbling to himself and smacking his lips like he still tasted the cheap wings and ego bruises.
The Strip faded behind us. The flashing neon gave way to a calmer stretch of street — fewer clubs, fewer crowds. Just dim storefronts and tourists nursing cheap margaritas in oversized plastic cups.
I was about to say something — anything — to cut the silence when a flash of blonde caught my eye.
At first, I thought I imagined it. There were a lot of people in Vegas with bleached hair and bad highlights, but this wasn't that. This was... familiar.
A kid. About my age, with bright blonde hair and ocean blue eyes that looked weirdly familiar.
I blinked, convinced I was imagining things. The crowd surged around me, but I kept my eyes locked on the kid weaving through the mass of people — blonde hair catching the light, those sharp ocean-blue eyes flashing like a reflection on water.
No way, I thought. It couldn't be.
But the longer I stared, the harder it was to convince myself otherwise. He looked older — sharper somehow — but it was him. Percy.
The last time I'd seen my brother, he'd been shorter, scrawnier... and not accused of blowing up a national monument.
"Hey!" I called out.
The kid — Percy — didn't stop. He was walking fast, dodging past tourists like he was on a mission. Two other kids followed after him, a girl with box braids and— it's that kid from the Diner! They looked extremely tense, eyes scanning the sidewalks like they were looking for something — or someone.
I took off after them, shoving through the crowd as I put the stick in my backpack. "Percy!" I shouted again.
For a second, I thought he heard me. His head turned slightly — but then he ducked into a building with flashing lights pouring from the windows and a flower on the front door.
I squinted at the neon sign above the door. Lotus Hotel & Casino.
"Percy!" I shouted, pushing my way through the crowd as I stepped into the casino.
The air shifted the moment I entered—thick, sweet, buzzing with energy. Laughter and music blended into a dizzying hum, and the lights pulsed like a heartbeat. Everything glittered, gleaming like it had been scrubbed clean of reality.
I wove past a group of kids playing some flashy holographic racing game.
"Percy Jackson!" I called louder, scanning the flashing arcade for any sign of him.
Where is he?
"—get him to hook us up with a ride to L.A.—"
Wait, what?
That voice—
"Your mom told you all the stories."
No way.
I turned sharply, and there he was. That kid from the diner.
What was he doing here—and why was he with—
"PERSEUS JACKSON!"
Percy whipped around at the sound of his name, startled. His hand darted to his pocket, but he was too slow. I barreled into him, tackling him to the floor.
"Ack—what the—who?!" Percy sputtered, blinking up at me.
I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close.
"Where have you been?!" I shouted, shaking him. "You blew up the Arch?! Totaled Gabe's car?! What happened to Mom?!"
His eyes widened. "Y/N? Y/N! What are you—"
I shook him again. I couldn't help it. I'd spent weeks scared out of my mind, no answers, no signs, nothing but silence. And now here he was, like none of it mattered.
"You're all over the news!" My voice cracked. "Terrorist attack at the St. Louis Arch? A bus explosion? Do you even know what it's been like—thinking you were—"
Dead. I couldn't say it.
Percy looked gutted. "Y/N, I swear. It's not what it looks like."
"Then what is it?" I snapped. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you abandoned me. You left me with Gabe. And Mom is—"
I stopped again. Couldn't finish that sentence either.
Percy's face changed. The defensiveness melted away, replaced by exhaustion, like he'd been carrying a mountain on his back for weeks. And suddenly, I wasn't angry.
I was scared.
"...What happened to you?" I asked, softer now.
Percy hesitated. His hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to grab something invisible. For the first time in our lives, he looked unsure.
"I can't explain everything right now," he said. "Me, Grover, and Annabeth—we're on a quest. It's life or death."
I let him go, slowly sitting back. "Grover? The kid from your school?" I asked, glancing toward the other boy.
"...Hey." Grover gave a little wave.
I blinked at him. Everything around me felt like it had hit slow motion.
"...Somebody better start explaining or I'm gonna have a freakin' aneurysm."
Grover shifted, glancing nervously at Percy. "It's... complicated. Percy's been on a quest. We all have. Someone stole something really important."
"A quest?" I repeated, staring at Percy. "What is he talking about?"
Percy sat up and brushed himself off. "It's a long story."
"I've got time," I said, crossing my arms.
The girl—dark skin, box braids, wary eyes—cut in.
"Well, we don't. Percy, who is this?"
"Annabeth, this is my brother—Y/N," Percy said.
Her eyes narrowed. "Brother?" She looked me over like I was a riddle. "Your full brother?"
"No," I said before Percy could answer. "Different dads."
She didn't look convinced. "And you're sure?"
"Pretty sure I'd know if my dad was—"
I paused, my eyes flicking to Grover's furry ankles, to Annabeth's sharp, almost birdlike gaze, and then back to Percy. I remembered how the old barber used to say Percy's hair looked like a highland cow's.
"...A furry?"
Percy snorted. Annabeth groaned.
"They are brothers," she muttered.
"Oh gods, I forgot how you are," Percy said, still laughing.
Grover cleared his throat. "Y/N, your dad probably isn't a furry."
"Probably?"
"Thanks for that clarification," Annabeth muttered.
But she was still eyeing me, calculating. "If you're not Poseidon's kid, then do you know who—"
"Poseidon?" I cut in. "Wait—Percy, your dad's named after a Greek god?"
Percy shrugged.
"...We'll talk about it later. And no," I said, answering her question. "I don't know who my dad is. Mom never told me." I shot Percy a look. "Unlike someone's parent."
He looked sheepish. "That's not—" He stopped, rubbing his face. "Look, we have bigger problems."
"Yeah, like the fact that the country thinks you're a terrorist?"
"It's not like that!"
Grover tried to smile. "Okay, so... have you ever heard of the Greek gods?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Do you know about them or not?" Annabeth pressed, scanning the casino like she expected monsters to drop from the ceiling.
"Yeah. Zeus. Poseidon. Mom used to tell us stories about them."
Grover hesitated. "Well... they're real."
I stared at him.
"Hm."
"He's serious," Percy said. "Gods. Monsters. All real. And Zeus thinks I stole his Master Bolt."
"Hm."
"Yeah."
"And he thinks you stole it?"
"Yep."
I dragged a hand down my face. "Jesus Christ."
"By the gods," Grover corrected.
I glared at him.
Percy exhaled. "We're trying to find the bolt before the summer solstice. If we don't, there's gonna be a war."
"Between the gods," I repeated.
"Exactly."
I shook my head. "That explains why Sugar is so weird... Who do you think took the bolt?"
"We're not sure. But we think Ares is covering for whoever did," Grover said.
"Clarisse," Annabeth added. "It fits."
"I don't even know who that is."
"Clarisse La Rue. Daughter of Ares. Percy dunked her in a toilet."
I stared at Percy.
"Of course you did."
"It was self-defense!"
I took a deep breath. "Okay. Why are you guys in a casino instead of, I don't know, saving the world?"
"We came here to find Hermes," Annabeth said. "We need a way into the Underworld."
"Why Hermes?"
"We're not musical enough to charm Cerberus," Grover said.
"And the golden bough is nearly impossible to find," Annabeth added.
"A bow? Like a weapon?"
"A bough," she corrected. "Like a branch. Aeneas used one to get into the Underworld."
Golden stick. Wait a second—
I dug into my bag and pulled out the golden branch I'd found.
"You mean like this?"
All three of them froze, staring like I'd just pulled out Excalibur.
"...Exactly like that," Annabeth breathed. "Where did you get this?"
"Off a tree. In the casino. I was with Gabe and Sugar... oh. Right."
"Sugar?" Percy asked, confused.
"That's... complicated."
"Try me. I'm literally dealing with gods, satyrs, and world-ending quests."
"Sugar showed up after you and Mom disappeared. Claimed she was a grief counselor for Gabe." I snorted. "She mostly just insulted him, which was actually pretty great."
"Gabe? The guy who electrocuted himself because Mom said not to touch the outlet?"
"Yeah. But Sugar's not—normal. She's not human. She knows things she shouldn't. Sometimes her eyes go all stormy. She's not right."
Percy tensed.
"You ever meet someone and just know they're dangerous?" I asked.
Grover, pale, slowly raised a finger and pointed behind me.
"Does she have gills?"
"What?" I turned—and froze.
Sugar stood behind me, arms crossed, smiling faintly.
Her blonde hair was darkening, drifting like it was underwater. Her eyes were deep, ancient. Horns sprouting from her head.
"Well, damn," she said with a smirk. "Took you long enough."
*
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DGW: Hello everyone, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed— and if you have any complaints feel free to share.
Word Count: 4839