The Shadow Archer Twins

You know how in old movies or TV shows, the class bully would always pick up the scrawny nerd by the ankles, and shake him, upside-down, until money fell out of his pockets? That’s how I feel right about now, like life just decided to shake me up and down to see what I was worth.

My name’s Otis, even though everyone who I’m able to call a friend calls me Tox. Why? Meh, I don’t know. I just told them that I thought it was a cool nickname, and they bought it. But recently, I haven’t been in the habit of keeping friends for long, so it doesn’t really matter. You see, my twin sister Katie and I have been on the run since my sixteenth birthday, two weeks ago. That’s when my story starts getting interesting.

My mother, Sofia, had been called down to New Orleans from her office in Washington, DC to attend a business conference, and, not wanting to leave us alone for four days, brought us with her. It was the middle of the summer, and since we didn’t have any vacation plans, my sister and I jumped at the opportunity to get out of DC.

Just so you know, my mom is the greatest person in the world. She never complains about anything, and always taught us to keep our heads up, and our eyes open. I think that’s why she loves art so much, even though she works for a boring oil company. She says that that’s one of the reasons my father liked her. He loved her art so much that he fell in love with her, and even though he left her after we were born, she had kept her head up, and her eyes open.

On the last day of her four-day conference, she took us on a tour of the building that she worked in, which was super cool. The building was at least fifty stories tall, made out of white stone and glass, which framed the rectangular shape that made up its appearance.

“Jeez,” Katie said, as we got out of our cab, “You could see all of Louisiana from up there.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “I bet that’s an awesome vantage point.”

Katie looked at me and scoffed, “You and your vantage points, Tox. You need to stop playing videogames.”

Looking offended, I said, “Maybe you should start playing videogames.”

“Whatever,” she replied.

“Guys,” My mother had warned, “This is our last day. So let’s try to enjoy it as much as we can.”

“Alright, Mom,” We both mumbled.

“Thank you,” She said with a smile, “Now, let me show you my floor.”

After the tour, we walked back to our hotel, seeing as it was only a couple minutes away by foot. The air was hot and sticky, but there was a nice breeze, so we didn’t mind. We were about five blocks away when out of the corner of my eye I caught the shape of a man staring directly at us from across the street. He was well hidden, sitting outside a bustling café with people all around him. But something about him made me feel uncomfortable. Then I realized what it was. He was wearing a full sized trench coat. It was grey, drab, something you didn’t notice, unless you realized that the person wearing it was in the deep south in the middle of July. He also had on a fedora hat, Indiana Jones style, which obscured his eyes from my view. The guy creeped me out, but I tried to ignore the feeling as we kept on walking. The weirdest thing about him though, was that I swear he had a tail snaking between his legs, with a barbed end just like a scorpion’s. And was it just me, or was he staring directly at us?

We walked a couple of more blocks, leaving the café behind, and as we turned a corner, I looked back just to make sure, already convincing myself that I was going paranoid, I saw him, and my face went pale.

“Hey Mom,” I said, nervously trying to keep my voice low, “Is it just me, or is Mr. Trench Coat been following us for a while?”

She looked back, and her eyebrows drew together in concern, “Who?”

“The guy behind us,” I insisted, “Straight out of a 20s police movie.”

Katie looked back this time as well, and they both seemed to notice him, and my mother’s face went paler than mine.

She started muttering, “I knew this would happen some day, I knew it!”

Really concerned now, I asked, “Mom, what are you talking about?”

Sternly, with absolute control and finality, she said, “Follow me. Do exactly as I say, and do it without question, understand? I think we can lose him in the hotel.”

Katie and I nodded together, and my Mom relaxed. I looked back again and saw something new. A teenage guy, maybe seventeen, was also walking behind us, picking up speed. He had on jeans and an bright orange t-shirt, and I swear I thought I saw a full length sword scabbard hanging from his belt, but before I could do a double-take, my Mom grabbed my wrist and pulled me in front of her as we also picked up speed, saying,
“Don’t look at him for too long, or he’ll notice you, and you don’t want him noticing you.”

Katie asked the question I didn’t want to. “Why do we not want him noticing us?”

With an alarming edge of nervousness, my mother replied, “Because he’s a manticore, a hunting machine straight out of Greek mythology.”

Katie replied, in a baffled tone, “Wait, what? What do you mean, ‘straight out of Greek mythology?’”

“Don’t worry about it yet,” said my Mom, “Let’s just get out of here first, alright?”

We walked into our hotel at an almost jogging pace, and then proceeded to run up the stairs to Room 314.

“Leave anything that isn’t essential,” my Mom commanded, “Take what you need to survive.”

We packed our backpacks in a hurry, and I put on my leather jacket, which is the third thing I love most behind my mother and sister. It makes me feel like a shadow, like someone so stealthy they can disappear, and for that quality, I was thankful. We were about to leave the room when we heard a banging on the door. My Mom whispered,

“Get behind me.” Then, she did something completely unexpected. She drew a dagger, long, thin, and bronze-colored, from a thin, secret compartment in her belt, which normally was strapped around the waist of her skirt.

“Mom,” I said in shock and awe, “Where did you get—”

“Silence,” She snapped, reaching for the doorknob, “Later, okay?”

She took a deep breath and ripped open the door, and standing in the doorway wasn’t the trench coat guy, but the teen in orange, with his sword drawn.

“Woah!” He said, “Friendly fire, I’m on your team!”

My mom lowered her blade and asked the guy flatly, “You from Camp?”

He replied, “Yeah,” as if this all made sense, which it totally didn’t.

My mom then asked, “Can you get them out safely?”

“I can try,” Orange Shirt replied.

“Good,” my Mom replied, “Then go, now, before he catches their scent.”

Realizing that she would be leaving us, I said, “Wait, Mom, where are you going?”

She replied, in a final tone, “To distract the manticore, Otis, to lead him away from you. It is time that you fully embraced your heritage, your father’s heritage.”

Seeing the look in my eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know. I‘ve protected you more than you’ll ever know. Remember what I taught you.”

“Head up, eyes open,” Katie and I said in chorus.

“Alright then, I guess this is good-bye. I will see you at Camp, hopefully soon, to explain everything.”

I had a bad feeling about that statement. It sounded like a good-bye for forever. But, I shouldered my backpack and followed Orange Shirt towards a back alley exit. I looked back one more time at my Mom, standing in front of Room 314, and then turned forward, running to catch up to Katie, who was already at the door with Orange Shirt.

We quietly pushed open the door, and started running down the alley, which connected to a bustling avenue. When we reached the road, he said,

“Follow me. We need to get to the airport, which isn’t that far away from here.”

I was so confused. Who was chasing us? Why did my mother have a dagger hidden in her belt? What was our ‘heritage’? And what was this ‘Camp’ that Orange Shirt said he was from? Finally, after running for a couple of blocks, I shouted,

“Stop! At least tell us who you are!”

Orange Shirt turned around impatiently, and I saw in his grey eyes a sense of urgency and impatience, like he was irritated from my question. But, he replied,
“I’m Malcolm,” he said, “Son of Athena.”

Notes

So yeah, the way that I decided to tie this story into the HoO Series was by using the character Malcolm, son of Athena, who was mentioned in the PJO series. Hopefully this fanfiction will give you a good backstory to fill the void of wondering you have about what is going on at camp while the Seven are on their quest in Europe.