The Demigod Diaries (The Heroes of Olympus)(42)

“Well, looks can be deceiving.” Her eyes seemed unnaturally bright, luminous green, like the light in Claymore’s dream. “The boy has concealed himself well,” she continued. “I must admit he’s gotten better at his magia occultandi. I hoped your speech would draw him into the open, and it did. But before I could grab him, he managed to escape. Give me his address, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

Claymore tried to stay calm. She was just a crazy old woman, rambling nonsense. Although magia occultandi…Claymore knew his Latin. That meant enchantment of hiding. Who in the world was this woman, and why did she want the boy? It was clear that she meant Alabaster harm.

As Claymore stared at her, he realized something else…Ms. Lamia wasn’t blinking. Had he ever seen her blink?

“You know what? I’m sick and tired of this.” Claymore’s voice trembled in spite of him. “Black, have you been listening?”

He looked across the counter at Burly. For some reason, Burly didn’t respond. He just kept polishing coffee mugs.

“Oh, he can’t hear you.” Lamia’s voice dropped to that same raspy whisper he’d heard last night on the phone. “We can control the Mist at will. He has no idea that I’m even here.”

“Mist?” Claymore asked. “What on earth are you talking about? You must truly be insane!”

He stood, instinctively backing away, putting his hand on his coat pocket. “Burly, please kick this woman out before she completely spoils my morning!”

Burly still didn’t respond. The big man stared right through Claymore as if he wasn’t there.

Lamia gave him a cocky smile. “You know, Mr. Claymore, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a mortal this arrogant before. Perhaps you need a demonstration.”

“Don’t you understand, Ms. Lamia? I don’t have time for this! I will take my leave now, and as for…”

He didn’t have time to finish. Lamia stood and her form began to shimmer. Her eyes were the first to change. Her irises expanded, glowing dark green. Her pupils narrowed into serpentine slits. She extended a hand and immediately her fingers shriveled and hardened, her nails turning into lizardlike claws.

“I can kill you right now, Mr. Claymore,” she whispered.

Wait…No, that wasn’t a whisper. It sounded more like a hiss.

Claymore pulled his gun from his jacket and pointed it at Lamia’s head. He didn’t understand what was happening—some sort of hallucinogen in his coffee, perhaps. But he couldn’t let this woman—this creature—get the best of him.

Those talons could be an illusion, but she was still preparing to attack him.

“Do you really think I would act so cocky around a lunatic if I wasn’t prepared to defend myself?” he asked.

She snarled and advanced, raising her claws.

Claymore had never shot anything before, but his instincts took over. He pulled the trigger. Lamia staggered, hissing.

“Life is a frail thing,” he said. “Perhaps you should have read my books! I’m merely acting in self-defense!”

She lunged again. Claymore fired twice more at the woman’s head, and she collapsed to the floor.

He’d expected there to be more blood…but it didn’t matter. “You—you saw that, Burly, didn’t you?” he demanded. “It couldn’t be helped!”

He turned to Black, and then frowned. Burly was still polishing coffee cups.

There was no way for Burly not to have heard the gunshots. How was that possible? How?

And then yet another impossibility happened. The corpse below him started to move.

“I hope you understand now, Mr. Claymore.” Lamia rose and stared at him with her one remaining serpent eye. The entire left side of her face had been blown off, but where blood and bone should have been there was a thick layer of black sand.

It looked more like Claymore had just destroyed part of a sandcastle…and even that part was slowly re-forming.

“By assaulting me with your mortal weapon,” she hissed, “you have declared war on the children of Hecate! And I do not take war lightly!”

This…this wasn’t a dream, drug-induced or otherwise. This was impossible.…How was this real? How was she still alive?

Focus! Claymore told himself. Obviously it is real, since it just happened!

And so, being a logical man, Claymore did the logical thing. He gripped his gun and ran.

The last time he’d seen a boot was years ago, on a rental car he’d illegally parked in Manhattan—but now, of course, on this morning of all mornings, there was one on his car tire. Driving away was no longer an option.

Lamia was getting closer. She shuffled out of the café, her left eye slowing regenerating into an angry stare.

A car drove by and Claymore tried to wave it down, but just as had happened with Black, the driver didn’t seem to register him.

“Don’t you understand?” Lamia hissed. “Your mortal brethren can’t see you! You’re in my world!”

Claymore didn’t argue. He took her explanation for it.

She wobbled toward him, taking her time. She seemed less like a serpent now, and more like a cat toying with its prey.

There was no way he could fight her off, either. He only had five shots left. If three bullets to the head wouldn’t stop her, he doubted that anything short of a hand grenade would.