The Demigod Diaries (The Heroes of Olympus)(41)

Despite the grime and dust she was kneeling in, the woman looked spotless. In fact she was the source of the light. The green shimmer surrounded her like an aura.

She spoke without looking at the boy. “Alabaster, I simply told you the most likely outcome. I didn’t promise you that it would occur. I only wanted you to see the options, so you would be prepared for what might lie ahead.”

“All right,” Claymore finally spoke up. “I’ve had enough. This ridiculous story ends now!”

He expected to snap back awake. But for some reason he didn’t.

The boy wheeled around and examined him with amazement. “ You?” He turned back to the kneeling woman. “Why is he here? Mortals aren’t allowed to set foot in the house of a god!”

“He’s here because I invited him in,” the woman said. “You asked for his help, didn’t you? I had hoped he would be more willing if he understood your—”

“Enough!” Claymore yelled. “This is absurd! This isn’t reality! This is merely a dream, and as its creator, I demand to wake up!”

The woman still didn’t look at him, but her voice sounded amused. “Very well, Dr. Claymore. If that is what you wish, I will make it so.”

Claymore opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming through his bedroom windows.

Odd…Usually when he chose to end a dream, he woke up immediately, during the dead of night. Why was it morning?

Well, if anything, that dream made the boy from yesterday seem a whole lot less intimidating. Kronos’s blessing? The house of a god? Alabaster had sounded more like a member of a role-playing group than a crazed psycho. Titans? Claymore fought back a laugh. What was he, five?

Claymore felt relieved and refreshed. It was time to start his morning routine.

He slipped out of his bedclothes, showered, and put on his regular attire—the same style of clothes he’d worn to his speech the night before: slacks, dress shirt, polished brown loafers. Claymore did not believe in dressing down.

He slipped on his tweed jacket and started to gather his belongings.

Laptop: check. Wallet: check. Keys: check.

Then he hesitated. There was one more thing he needed. It was a completely unnecessary precaution, but it would give him peace of mind. He opened his desk drawer, picked his smallest handgun—a nine-millimeter—and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Last night the boy Alabaster had shaken him to his foundation. So much so that Claymore had gone to bed without doing any writing, which was not something he could afford right now, with his next deadline right around the corner. He could not allow any crazed fans to affect his mood and output. If that meant he had to carry a security blanket, then so be it.

Black’s Coffee. The name was a pun of the worst kind, but still Claymore returned day after day. After all, it was the best coffee place in Keeseville. Then again, it was the only coffee place in Keeseville.…

He’d gotten to know the owner quite well. As soon as he stepped inside, Burly Black was the first one to greet him with “Howard! How you doing? The usual?”

Burly was…well, burly. His beefy face, massive tattooed arms, and permanent scowl would have gained him entry into any biker gang. His Kiss the Cook apron was the only thing that made him look like he was supposed to be behind the counter.

“Morning,” Claymore replied, taking a seat at the counter and pulling out his laptop. “Yes, the usual is good.”

He was on chapter forty-six at this point, which made his work easier. No more hand-holding the readers. If they hadn’t gotten the point by now, they never would.

Coffee and a blueberry pastry appeared in front of him, but Claymore hardly noticed them. He was in his own world, fingers sprawling out on the keyboard, words and thoughts coming together in a seemingly incomprehensible pattern, but Claymore knew it was genius.

The coffee was slowly drained. The pastry was reduced to a few crumbs. Other customers came and went, but none of them fazed Claymore. Nothing mattered except his work. This was what he lived for.

But then his private world shattered when a woman sat down next to him.

“Claymore, what a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

White-hot hatred welled up inside him. He hit control-S and closed his laptop. “Ms. Lamia, if I were not a more civilized man, I’d pull that seat out from under you.”

She pouted, giving him puppy eyes, which wasn’t convincing in a woman her age. “That’s not very nice, Mr. Claymore. I’m just saying hello.”

He glared at her. “It’s Doctor Claymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she said halfheartedly. “I always forget…I’m not very good with names, you see.”

“The only thing I want from you is for you to leave my sight,” he said. “I refuse to be converted to whatever cult you belong to.”

“I just want to talk,” she insisted. “It’s not about gods. It’s about the boy, Alabaster.”

He eyed her suspiciously. How did she know the boy’s name? Claymore hadn’t mentioned it in their phone conversation last night.

Ms. Lamia smiled. “I’ve been looking for Alabaster for some time now. I’m his sister.”

Claymore laughed. “Can’t you make up a better lie than that? You’re older than the boy’s father!”