The Demigod Diaries

Page 20

“That’s a shame,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It makes my job that much harder.”

Claymore slammed down the receiver.

What was that woman’s problem? She had started the conversation by practically saying, “I’ve been stalking you,” and then tried to convert him. So much for her being a nice grandmother.

The phone rang again—Lamia’s ID—but Claymore had absolutely no intention of picking it up. He unplugged his phone, and that was the end of that.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he’d file a police report. Clearly Ms. Lamia was deranged. Why on earth would she want that boy’s address? What did Lamia want with him?

Claymore shivered. He felt a strange urge to warn the child. But no, this wasn’t his problem. He would just let the psychos thin themselves out, if that’s what they wished. He wasn’t going to step into the crossfire.

Especially not tonight. Tonight, he needed to sleep.

Claymore knew that curiosity and excitement could twist a person’s dreams. But that didn’t explain this one.

He found himself in a vast room, old and dusty. It looked like a church that hadn’t been cleaned in a century. There was no light except for a soft green shimmer at the far end of the room. The source of the light was obscured by a boy standing in the aisle directly in front of him. Though Claymore couldn’t see clearly, he was sure it was the same kid from the auditorium. What was he doing in Claymore’s dream?

Claymore was what people called a lucid dreamer, someone who usually knows when they’re dreaming and can wake up at will. He could have woken himself now if he’d wanted to, but he decided not to just yet. He was curious.

“She’s found me again,” the boy said. He wasn’t addressing Claymore. His back was turned, and he seemed to be talking to the green light. “I don’t know if I can fight her off this time. She’s closing in on my scent.”

For a moment there was no answer. Then, finally, a woman spoke from the front of the room. Her tone was stoic and without humor, and something about it sent a shiver up Claymore’s spine.

“You know I cannot help you, my child,” she said. “She is my daughter. I can’t raise my hand against either of you.”

The boy tensed like he was ready to argue, but he stopped himself. “I—I understand, Mother.”

“Alabaster, you know I love you,” the woman said. “But this is a battle you brought upon yourself. You accepted Kronos’s blessing. You fought with his armies in my name. You can’t simply turn to your enemies now and ask for forgiveness. They will never help you. I have bargained to keep you safe thus far, but I cannot interfere in your fight with her.”

Claymore frowned. The name Kronos referred to the Titan lord of Greek mythology, son of the earth and the heavens, but the rest made no sense. Claymore had hoped to gain some insight from this dream, but now it seemed like garbage—more mythology and legends. It was nothing but useless fiction.

The boy, Alabaster, stepped toward the green light. “Kronos wasn’t supposed to lose! You said the odds of winning were in the Titans’ favor! You told me Camp Half-Blood would be destroyed!”

When the boy moved, Claymore could finally see the woman that he was talking to. She knelt at the end of the aisle, her face raised as if in prayer to a dirty stained glass window above the altar. She was dressed in white robes covered with ornate silver designs, like runes or alchemy symbols. Her dark hair barely came down to her shoulders.

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.