Chapter Text
It’s hard to be surprised when unexpected, unforeseen coincidences follow closely behind you, nipping at your heels frequently. Because when bad things happen more often than the good, you start to expect them. Things begin to get mixed up; the good, happy moments become rarer than the bad, scary ones, so the latter is what you expect.
For Marlowe, negativity stuck like oil paint. At times it was colourful, but mostly was dulled and murky, it could be scrubbed, washed and scratched away, yet dark spots clung like stains. And sure, it could be covered up—sewn over, painted anew with bright pinks and purples, cut out and replaced with something nice and clean—but still, it would cling deep beneath the surface.
So when Mr. Brunner, her Latin teacher, announced a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Marlowe knew that something would go wrong. Why wouldn’t it? Field trips were always a disaster; an escaped shark from Marine World, a dented school bus at the Saratoga Battlefield.
Marlowe’s mom would scold her for her cynicism; something could go wrong, but it also could go right. “This is the year of Marlowe!” her mom had recited over and over on the drive out of the city to Yancy Academy—a boarding school for the worst of the worst kids—at the start of the school year.
It’s not that she didn’t trust her mom, in fact, she was right about pretty much everything; where Marlowe had left her favourite sweatshirt, where the right puzzle pieces fitted. It was just that not a whole lot went right in her life. Especially not a whole year.
But, still, there was a small, flickering light of optimism glowing deep beneath the surface.
It faded, however, when the first wet thud landed on the side of her neck, followed by an eruption of snickering. Marlowe’s eyebrows knitted together and she reached a hand to swipe away the chunk of peanut butter and ketchup sandwich that clung to her skin.
She twisted herself around to glance over the back of the bus seat. Nancy Bobofit glared back with a huge grin, her hands armed with the sandwich she’d taken from her sacked lunch. Marlowe frowned, quickly turning back to dodge another chunk, which thwacked into the armrest.
She huffed, shifting herself away from the aisle, to sit in the window seat. The side of her leg pressed uncomfortably against the side of the bus.
Nancy was Marlowe’s roommate, she was a red-headed girl with a wicked grin and a tendency to pocket Marlowe’s hairclips. She wasn’t as bad as the bullies from her other schools—she wasn’t a bully at all, just mean when she was with her friends. When the two of them were alone in the dorm, Nancy could almost be a friend. They’d silently slide magazines and candy back and forth and help each other with homework.
Another chunk of sandwich pelted forwards, a splatter of ketchup staining the seat in front of her.
“I’m going to kill her,” Percy mumbled. He was sitting across the aisle, wiping a splatter of peanut-butter from his cheek, beside him, Grover was doing the same thing, plucking chunks from the shoulders of his uniform and from between the curls in his hair.
Percy was Marlowe’s twin brother, and although he was eight minutes younger than her, he liked to pretend that he was the older one. Despite being fraternal, they looked pretty alike; they had the same, bright, green eyes, the same nose bridge, and the same wave to their hair, although Marlowe’s was lighter in colour. They both had one dimple, but Percy’s was on the left, and hers on the right, his smile was wider with more teeth, her freckles were darker, extending to her arms and torso.
Their appearance was one of the only things about them that was similar. Percy liked to skateboard and listen to artists from the 80’s that Marlowe could barely understand, he liked watching the same movies over and over, and wore dark colours that made their mom smile nervously. Marlowe pieced together puzzles, rescued mice from hungry pigeons, and liked listening to Kate Bush and Fiona Apple. She watched new movies rather than old ones, and liked to wear lighter coloured clothing.
But it didn’t matter; they were cut from the same cloth, two sides of the same coin. They were twins, connected in every way, from their DNA, to the matching cigarette burns on their hands from a bully in their 5th grade school.
“You’d think Mr. Brunner would have noticed by now,” Marlowe replied, twisting to face the two across the bus’s aisle.
Percy huffed, sliding down in his seat just in time to avoid another piece flying over his head. He growled and his eyebrows knitted together into an angry scowl.
“It’s okay,” Grover reassured him, “I like peanut butter.” Another piece of sandwich was tossed over the seat, this time, landing in Grover’s hair.
Much like her, Grover was an easy target. He was soft-spoken, voice silvery and sweet. He'd presumably been held back a few years, wisps of hair shot from his chin, cheeks splinted with acne, eyes holding the weight of somebody much older than the sixth grade. The fact that he cried when he was frustrated or couldn't do something didn't help.
“That’s it,” Percy hissed, beginning to push himself up from the uncomfortable seats of the bus. Grover, however, intercepted this motion. Curling his arm around Percy's, he yanked him back to sitting.
"You're already on probation," he whispered, eyes skittish, as though saying it would land Percy in another three weeks of detention. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."
Percy's eyebrows stayed dancing together, face strained as he mentally listed the pros and cons of decking Nancy Bobofit in the face. "Fine," he said heavily after a while. "But if she does anything, I won't hesitate to—"
The words fell flat as Mrs. Dodds got up and began to walk to the back of the bus.
The Museum tour started off slowly; Mr Brunner led them like a pack of wolves through different exhibits, occasionally stopping to point and discuss whatever piece of art, pottery or statue they stood before, the wheels of his motorised wheelchair squeaking against the cold, tiled floor.
It should have been out of place. The screech of the wheels, the way he had to manoeuvre awkwardly, reversing again and again to it between display cases. Yet, Mr. Brunner wasn’t—in any way—out of place. It was almost like he was at home. Wedged between Greek and Roman funeral markers with some innate purpose.
The group were gathered around a thirteen-foot stele (a grave marker, as Marlowe had learned) for a girl about their age, listening to Mr. Brunner’s commentary on the engravings. Most of the other kids were wholly uninterested and had resorted to pointing and snickering at the naked statues, or chattering quietly about lunch and stickers.
Nancy was the loudest among them, and had grabbed her friend by the elbow, pointing mockingly at one of the engraving on the side of the stele. Percy—who had never had an ounce of patience in him—had scowled, turned around and hissed, “Will you shut up!”
The talking simmered down, replaced with cruel cackling from the entire group. Percy’s face dropped, realising he’d been louder than he meant to, and a blush began to creep from his neck, embarrassment settling down deep into his pores. He sighed quickly, glancing sideways at his sister.
Marlowe managed to muster a small smile, flashing a wonky simper at him. “It wasn’t that embarrassing,” she tried to reassure quietly, although the laughing had yet to cease and Percy’s face was growing redder by the second.
“Mr. Jackson,” Mr. Brunner said flatly, his head tilting in question, “did you have a comment?”
“No, sir.” Percy mumbled quietly, trying to avert his eyes to anywhere but the people surrounding him.
Instead of reprimanding or belittling him, Mr. Brunner calmly raised a hand from where it’d been resting on the arm of his wheelchair, and pointed to one of the pictures engraved onto the stele. A figure stood, mouth agape as it pushed something inside.
“Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?” he asked with a small smile.
Percy paused for a moment, a wave of realisation washing over him. “That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”
“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said slowly, “And he did this because…”
“Well…” Percy paused, his eyebrows knitting together in thought, “Kronos was the king god, and—”
“God?” he cut off.
“Titan.” Percy corrected himself. “And… he didn’t trust his kids who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad Kronos into barfing up his brothers and sisters—”
He was interrupted by a chorus of Ewwws from Nancy’s group of friends.
“—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans,” Percy continued, ignoring the giggling from behind him. “And the gods won.”
Mr. Brunner nodded in satisfaction, giving Percy a small smile. As he turned back to the stele, readying himself to explain another of the grave markings, Nancy turned to one of her friends and loudly interjected; “Like we’re going to use this in real life. Like it’s going to say on our job applications, ‘Please explain why Kronos ate his kids,’”
“And why, Mr. Jackson,” Brunner said, “to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question, does this matter in real life?”
“Busted,” Grover muttered in a chirpy tone.
“Shut up,” Nancy hissed back, her face beginning to deepen to a shade of strawberry red.
After a moment, Percy shrugged, looking back at Mr. Brunner and sighing, “I don’t know, sir.”
“I see. Does anybody else know the answer to the question?” His eyes scanned the group hopefully, although they kept flitting back to where Percy and Marlowe were standing.
Marlowe tried racking her brain. Maybe it could be a metaphor for the relationship between a ruler and its son, scared the latter would overthrow him, so taking the most drastic measures to insure the opposite; there was a prophecy involved in the whole Kronos thing, right? Or maybe it was about power and control. In order to hold onto his control over the other Titans, Kronos ate his kids in fear of them taking it from him, he was shielding himself from imposing threats. That could be applied to the real world.
Marlowe, however, kept her mouth clamped shut.
After a moment of no reply, he looked disappointed and continued. “Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it’s time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?”
The class began to drift off, following Mrs. Dodds back though the exhibits to find a suitable spot for lunch, Nancy and her friends holding their stomachs, clearly not amused by Mr. Brunner’s retelling. As Marlowe began to follow her brother and Grover, they were stopped.
“Jacksons,” he said with a soft smile.
After Percy had urged Grover to go ahead without them, the two of them stood side-by-side, facing Mr. Brunner nervously.
“You must learn the answer to my question,” he said simply.
“About the Titans?” Percy asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“About real life. And how your studies apply to it,” Mr. Brunner corrected. “What you learn from me is vitally important.I expect you to treat it as such. I will only accept the best from you two.”
“I’ll try harder next time,” Percy muttered out, looking awkwardly at the floor.
Marlowe opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, instead choosing to firmly nod.
“Why do you always give me the green ones?” Percy huffed, rolling the marshmallow between two of his fingers, before throwing it into his mouth.
Marlowe shrugged, fishing out another to give him, “I don’t like those ones.”
“Are they not all the same?” Grover’s voice was muffled through large bites of apple.
She glared at him for a moment before she shoved her hand back into the bag, picking up a rainbow marshmallow. "No Grover," she said slowly, "no they're not."
Marlowe had snagged a small box of Lucky Charms from Yancy’s breakfast supply before they’d left for the trip, knowing that whatever they were going to give them in their packed lunches, she probably wouldn’t like. Marlowe didn’t like most foods, so she usually stuck to what she knew; Lucky Charms cereal, goldfish crackers, her mom’s homemade cookies, pizza from the restaurant three doors down.
“Can I have a purple one?” Percy asked, looking hopefully at her lap, where she was clutching the box.
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her hand so that the opening was facing him. He grinned and dug around until he found a purple horseshoe marshmallow.
“Do you think it’s going to rain?” Marlowe asked, looking up at the sky. It had been brewing for the better half of the day. A haze of grey swirling and mixing into a large brewing pot that hung over their heads.
New York was not exactly known for its perfect weather. Since Christmas, it had been getting worse. Percy had said it was global warming or something, but it didn't sit right. Massive, swirling snowstorms that kept them locked in the apartment for days, wildfires from lightning strikes that had taken out part of Central Park, flooding that even rain boots couldn't stop.
And it seemed like another storm was coming.
"Maybe." Grover shrugged, half-heartedly, as he snagged the apple from Marlowe's lunch bag.
"I feel like it's going to rain." She'd always had a knack for knowing when it would rain. Like a strange, instinctive tingle that dug deep into her bones.
Percy glanced at the bag of Lucky Charms she was holding, then glanced up to Marlowe, then back down to the bag. She huffed, rolling her eyes, and pointed it towards him again. Percy smiled and grabbed a handful of marshmallow-cereal mix, shoving it all into his mouth at once.
Percy grinned at her, showing off the chewed-up food that rested on his tongue. Marlowe scoffed and pushed his shoulder lightly.
"You're gross." She winced.
All of a sudden, the bag of Lucky Charms was yanked out of her hand, spilling across the floor. Marlowe glanced up to see Nancy staring back down at her, a wicked grin coating her face.
"My hand slipped," she sneered. Nancy then pulled her half-eaten sandwich from her bag, reached over, and dumped it onto Grover's lap. "Oops." Her crooked teeth grinned back maliciously.
Percy’s eyebrows knitted together, his face melting into an angry scowl; he was nothing if not a protector.
The fountain behind them seemed to roar, the water bubbling sharply, smashing up into the sides of the porcelain with malice. A string of clear water stretched out like a hand, wrapping its arm around Nancy’s torso and pulling her—in one, clean swoop—into the fountain.
Marlowe turned as quickly as she could to see Nancy, frozen, gasping loudly, trying to push the hair away from where it had stuck to her face. She shivered violently, trying to burble out words that came indistinctively from her mouth.
After a while, breathing heavily from the cold water, Nancy managed to screech, “Percy pushed me!”
Hushed whispers echoed around the fountain as more of Yancy’s students began to gather around them. They grew louder as Mrs. Dodds parted through the crowd and helped Nancy out of the fountain, trailing a puddle of water against the concrete floor. After trying to calm her down with the promise of a new t-shirt from the Museum’s gift shop, the teacher’s face turned downwards, facing Percy with a scowl.
“Now honey—” she began in a sugary tone.
But her words were cut short as Percy interrupted stupidly with, “I know, a month erasing workbooks.”
Mrs. Dodd's face twitched, her eyes deepening to something more sinister. A deep growl emitted from her throat, and her words came out in a snarl: “Come with me.”
“W-Wait!” Grover yelped, suddenly pushing to his feet in an awkward movement. “It was me. I pushed her!”
Her eyes dragged slowly over to Grover, who was shivering so violently with nervousness, that it seemed as though he was the one who had fallen into the fountain. He was terrified of Mrs. Dodds.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Underwood,” she said flatly.
“But—”
“You will stay here.” Mrs. Dodds commanded, voice flat as she smiled fakely.
Grover let out a series of ragged breaths before turning wildly to Percy. The desperation in his eyes seemed too severe for the reprimanding of a leather-jacket-wearing Maths teacher.
"Honey, now." Mrs. Dodds barked, although the honey in her voice had long soured. As Percy began to stand up, she zeroed in on Marlowe, who was trying to busy herself with dipping her fingers into the pool of water behind her. "You too," she said coldly. "Trouble comes with the two of you."
Marlowe swallowed thickly and shook the droplets from her hand. When she looked back up to the space where the teacher had been standing, it was empty. Mrs. Dodds had, somehow, made it to the museum entrance.
"Come on," Percy said quietly, grabbing her hand to pull her up.
Mrs. Dodds had led them back through the museum, moving so quickly that Marlowe had to practically jog to keep up. At first, she thought that the teacher was going to make them buy Nancy a new shirt or a magnet from the gift shop, but they'd passed the sign and kept going further into the building.
Her shoes clicked angrily against the floor, and Marlowe could have sworn she could hear growling coming from Mrs. Dodds. Was she so angry that she was physically scowling? It wasn't unusual for her to punish them more than the other students, but this level of anger?
Her shoes clicked angrily against the floor, and Marlowe could have sworn she could hear growling coming from Mrs. Dodds. Was she so angry that she was physically scowling? It wasn't unusual for her to punish them more than the other students, but this level of anger?
They eventually came to a halt in the Greek and Roman section of the museum, which they'd left not even a half hour ago. Except, it had changed. The glass cabinets filled with prized artefacts, the stele of the deceased girl, the bronzed shields and weapons, had disappeared. All traces of an exhibit had vanished.
Mrs. Dodds turned, arms crossed, face screwed into an obscure expression in front of the frieze of the Greek gods. The growling sound intensified, ringing around the room so sharply that it became the only thing that Marlowe could hear.
"You've been giving us problems, honey." Her voice was filled with gravel and broken glass; it didn't sound a thing like Mrs. Dodds and her sweet Georgian accent.
"Yes, ma'am." Percy mumbled.
Something could go right. But it wasn't. A strange feeling washed over Marlowe; it was like before it rained and a hum would rise from her bones. Except it wasn't that feeling. It was something animalistic—violent, almost. It really wasn't going right.
"Did you really think you two would get away with it?"
Marlowe took a tentative step backwards. Mrs. Dodds' eyes were filled with vexation; she wouldn't harm a student, right?
Right?
"We'll—we'll try harder, ma'am." Percy stuttered, glancing quickly to his sister.
Mrs. Dodds tugged at the sleeves of her leather jacket and shook her head, tutting loudly. "We are not fools. It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
Marlowe's fingers found the dragonflies that she’d sewn on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, tracing them, trying to comfort herself. It was one of Percy's old ones that he'd outgrown. A deep blue GAP hoodie, the strings mismatched and knotted beyond repair, the zip was stiff, and cuffs sewn back after the elasticity had snapped. But it was comforting to wear.
'Only a matter of time before we found you out.' Had she found out about the candy she and Percy sold in his dorm? Or maybe Marjory Thompson had found out that Marlowe stole her strawberry shortcake scented pencil and had told on her.
But the display of anger that Mrs. Dodds was showing was too severe. A strawberry shortcake scented pencil did not equate to dragging them through the Museum. Even if it was a really cool pencil.
"Well?" She demanded, taking a firm step forward.
"Look, Ma'am, I don't—" Marlowe tried to reason.
"Time is up," she hissed, the southern, sweet voice vanishing to a deep, gravelled boom.
All of a sudden, Mrs. Dodds' eyes began to glow. She thought it was the reflection of the sun against the glass cabinets, at first, but then it grew brighter. Red hot, like burning coals. The bones of her fingers snapped, growing into long, sharp talons, and her leather jacket melted into large, leathery wings. They gleamed vibrantly—violently.
Mrs. Dodds was no longer human.
She was a tall, crooked thing; a hunched over hag with bat wings curling around her figure, talons sharper than kitchen knives, and when she grinned, her mouth was filled with yellowed fangs.
Marlowe pinched her wrist, hoping to spring awake, sweaty in her small bed, back at Yancy, with Nancy Bobofitt snoring loudly on the other side of the room. But she didn't wake up; all she felt was a small twang of pain from where her fingers had gripped her skin.
"Percy," her voice shivered as she reached a hand out to grab his arm.
She had always seen strange things that others seemed to ignore. Faces in the waves of the ocean, voices from the fish tank in the dentist's office, creatures flying in the sky. Percy had seen them too.
But this was surely not real. Her Maths teacher was not a freaky bat-hag-woman.
"This isn't real," Marlowe whispered. "It can't be real."
"It's real, honey," Mrs. Dodds purred.
"What ho, Percy!" Mr. Brunner's voice called, confidently, from behind them. He had wheeled himself into the doorway of the room, and tightly held a ballpoint pen in his hands. His face didn't seem to register the Mrs. Dodds situation—it was as though she turned into a crazed bat woman every day.
At the sight of him, she lunged, talons swiping at the space between Percy and Marlowe. They whistled past her ears, missing her face by a few inches. She quickly let go of her brother's arm as Mrs. Dodds advanced forwards. She seethed, breath hissing madly.
Mr. Brunner threw the pen; she could see it glitter in the sun.
The talons raised again, malignant, pulsing with rage. The wings twitched, fangs smirking, her head tilted gleefully. Mrs. Dodds had zeroed in on Marlowe, stomping towards her in swift motions.
"Mr. Brunner," Marlowe sputtered.
A blinding pain shot through her. The talons had dug into her with one rapid swing. A trail of blood began to drip down her arm, staining the floor with splotches of metallic red.
"Where is it?" Mrs. Dodds howled, curling her talons to dig deeper into Marlowe's flesh.
Through sobs, she hiccupped, "I don't k-know." Her breathing became ragged, uneven.
A primal yell left her lips as she yanked the claws from Marlowe's arm. With the motion came crimson that spattered against the wall. She bared her fangs, and in the blink of an eye, Marlowe had been pushed, thumping against the wall and falling to crumple against the cold, hard floor.
The pain consumed her, Marlowe's ears rang, and her vision had been invaded by small, black specks. She clamped a hand around her arm, feeling a layer of sticky blood coat the sleeve of her jacket. A hiss left her lips.
She pushed herself upwards to sit and leant against the wall for support. Mrs. Dodds thumped towards her, leather wings twitching with irritation.
Please. Please. She tried to beg, but the words fell short and she was left gasping for air.
"Die, honey!" Mrs. Dodds snarled.
Marlowe squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the talons to slash her open, but it never came. There was no immobilising pain. Nothing at all.
Her eyes flickered open to see something bronze and flickering sticking out of Mrs. Dodds' chest—it was Mr. Brunner's sword, the one that he paraded around on tournament day. The figure of her Maths teacher, turned monster, exploded into a cloud of bright, yellow dust, leaving nothing but the sickening smell of sulphur and evil.
Percy stood behind the cloud, holding the sword with dedication.
Marlowe let out a shaky breath, blinked, and the sword was gone, so was the cloud of yellow. Percy clutched a ballpoint pen in one shaky hand.
They stared at each other wildly.
"What the hell just happened?"
Nothing remained of what happened. Mrs. Dodds's leather jacket and her flaming red hair had disappeared completely. There was no clawed, fanged monster, no yellow flecks to convey her death. Even the sword Percy was clutching had been replaced with a regular ballpoint pen.
Marlowe's breath was heavy, shaky.
"Where's Mr. Brunner?" Percy asked drearily. He was heaving, eyes wildly scanning the room for the bat-hag-math-teacher that had disappeared.
"Mr. Brunner?" she mumbled.
He was in the doorway—or was it the window?—and had thrown the pen to Percy. But he hadn't helped. Not when the creature was advancing on her, booming clawed feet against the marble floors.
"We need—we need to go. Get help or—or call the FBI or something." Percy stumbled breathlessly. He stuck out a hand for Marlowe, which she grabbed.
Her back ached from being thrown against the wall, and her arm throbbed violently. She still had her hand clamped tightly around her bicep where the talons had pierced her skin. Apply pressure. That was what you were supposed to do, right?
"Maybe the lucky charms were laced with something?" Percy suggested, lightly grabbing her arm and scanning his eyes over the shredded fabric of her hoodie.
"Laced?"
"Yeah, with like... I don't know, mushrooms or something?"
Marlowe's eyebrows furrowed. Percy poked at the space between two of her fingers and a searing pain shot down her arm. She hissed. He mumbled out a sorry.
Percy held out her other arm—the non-injured one—and led her from the building. It felt like a fever dream, navigating through the exhibits they'd followed Mrs. Dodds through not even ten minutes prior.
Cold, heavy droplets spat onto her head as she emerged from the Metropolitan. Even out here, nothing had changed. Grover sat at the fountain where they'd left him, musing himself with picking at his nails, the map of the museum clutched above his head. Nancy was grumbling to her friends, still soaking wet head-to-toe.
When she saw Marlowe and Percy step out onto the square where they'd been having lunch, she smirked widely. "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butts."
Mrs. Kerr? Maybe there had been magic mushrooms in the Lucky Charms.
"Who?" Percy asked, clearly as confused as Marlowe.
Nancy's face faltered for a moment before she scoffed, "Our teacher, duh," as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Percy practically dragged her over to Grover, who had a guilty look painted across his face.
"Where's Mrs. Dodds?" he asked sternly.
"Who?" Grover said slowly, refusing to raise his head from where he'd been looking at the floor.
"Not funny, man." Percy scoffed. "This is serious. Marlowe's really hurt."
Only then did he raise his head. His eyes scanned the arm she still clutched tightly, her sweater shredded into flailing pieces of fabric, a bruise of crimson staining the arm. Grover winced.
"That glass cabinet really did a number on you."
"Glass cabinet?" Marlowe croaked.
"Yeah, one of the exhibits hadn't been bolted down. You don't remember?" Grover's words were quick and sharp, as though he'd rehearsed them a hundred times over. "Maybe you need to go and see Mr. Brunner. I think the blood loss has gotten to your head."
Marlowe's head was swimming. The pain hadn't relented. With every step, shocks bolted down her arm.
Mr. Brunner was sitting as he was before: small, red umbrella over his head, holding a book in his hands. When the two of them staggered over, he raised his head, uninterested.
"Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."
She glanced over to see Percy's free hand still clutching the ballpoint pen. Dizzily, he handed the pen back to the teacher, who just slipped it back into his pocket.
There had definitely been magic mushrooms in the Lucky Charms.
"Sir, where's Mrs. Dodds?"
Mr. Brunner stared blankly. "Who?"
"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher," Percy insisted.
"Leather jacket?" Marlowe added, gripping her arm tighter.
Mr. Brunner frowned, sitting forward in his chair. "There is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"
"Not really," Marlowe replied quietly.
"Ah! Your injury seems to have gotten worse," Mr. Brunner stated. He then waved a hand over to somebody she had never seen before. "Mrs. Kerr? Do you have the first-aid kit?"