𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑽𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔－ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝑶𝒏𝒆

Ariadne scowled in her dream. She wanted to wake up already, but she couldn't.

Rachel knit her eyebrows. "I don't know."

"We leave in the morning," her dad said. "If he hadn't made up his mind yet—"

"He's probably not coming," Rachel said miserably. "Happy?"

Mr. Dare put his hands behind his back. He paced the room with a stern expression. She imagined he did that in the boardroom of his land development company and made his employees nervous.

"Are you still having bad dreams?" he asked. "Headaches?"

Rachel threw her darts on the floor. "I should never have told you about that."

"I'm your father," he said. "I'm worried about you."

"Worried about the family's reputation," Rachel muttered.

Her father didn't react—maybe because he'd heard that comment before, or maybe because it was true. "We could call Dr. Arkwright," he suggested. "He helped you get through the death of your hamster."

"I was six then," she said. "And no, Dad, I don't need a therapist. I just..." She shook her head helplessly.

Her father stopped in front of the windows. He gazed at the New York skyline as if he owned it—which wasn't true. He only owned part of it.

"It will be good for you to get away," he decided. "You've had some unhealthy influences."

"I'm not going to Clarion Ladies Academy," Rachel said. "And my friends are none of your business."

Mr. Dare smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was more like, Someday you'll realize how silly you sound.

"Try to get some sleep," he urged. "We'll be at the beach by tomorrow night. It will be fun."

"Fun," Rachel repeated. "Lots of fun."

Her father exited the room. He left the door open behind him.

Rachel stared at the portrait of Ariadne. Her eyes were transfixed on the brunette girl before she shook her head. Then she walked to the easel next to it, which was covered in a sheet.

"I hope they're dreams," she said.

She uncovered the easel. On it was a hastily sketched charcoal, but Rachel was a good artist, as much as Ariadne hated to admit it. The picture was definitely Luke as a young boy. He was about nine years old, with a wide grin and no scar on his face. Ariadne fell a lump in her throat crawl up and up, waiting to be let out.

Rachel stared at the portrait. Then she uncovered the next easel. This picture was even more disturbing. It showed the Empire State Building with lightning all around it. In the distance a dark storm was brewing, with a huge hand coming out of the clouds. At the base of the building a crowd had gathered... but it wasn't a normal crowd of tourists and pedestrians. Ariadne saw spears, javelins, and banners—the trappings of an army. There were even vines around the crowd.

"Percy," Rachel muttered, as if Percy was listening, "what is going on?"

The dream faded, and the last thing Ariadne remembered was wondering if Percy was dreaming of the same thing as her that night.

***

     SHE WAS FOCUSED ON CAMP. She hadn't really thought of her dream much since she woke up. But to her dismay and annoyance, she saw a dove on her windowsill and swatted it away, knowing Aphrodite was watching despite fighting Typhon with her family.