Page 57 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

Joe’s body leaned a warm, tired shoulder against Percy’s. Percy swept a hand around Joe’s waist, and the creature touched Joe’s beautiful head to Percy’s cheek, the softness and scent of his hair easing the tight fist that Percy’s stomach had become.

No sign of Althea.

Percy wished a bomb would go off. Just detonate right there in the baggage claim and leave nothing of him or of Joe or of anything else.

It was good that there was no sign of her. But it was also very bad that there was no sign of her. No random water bottle sitting conspicuously out in the open like he’d hoped for. Just more and more people surrounding them, and Percy wondering how long he had until he’d have to risk giving Joe a concussion, or worse, if the thing tried to abscond.

The crowd shuffled, bunched, thinned, and bunched again.

Percy felt the press of something long, cool, and hard into his hand.

He made no move beyond carefully curling his fingers closed on the object. He slid it up his sleeve, moving his fingers downand down and down, recognising a plastic cylinder, tapering to a long, flimsy plastic lid.

He popped the cap.

There was an audible tap as it hit the floor.

“Did you drop something?” Joe leaned his head forward. Percy jabbed the syringe into his arm, squeezing the plunger until the chamber was empty.

The sweet head that had been on his shoulder a moment earlier snapped across fiercely. “What the fuck did you just do?”

Joe tried to fight Percy off as he hugged him tight to slow the fall, keeping his arms glued to his side, but whatever had been in the syringe was powerful, and it was now flowing through Joe’s body and brain with unnerving immediacy. “It’s all right, darling. You’ll be all right.”

Percy was on his knees, bracing Joe, whose eyes fluttered open and closed in a futile attempt to stay conscious. A shaking hand ran over Joe’s heaving chest, and Percy whispered, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

A coat fell over Joe’s body. Percy caught the glint of a metal band being slipped onto Joe’s wrist. Leo had already climbed back to his feet to address the forming crowd by the time Percy recognised him. “Stand back! He’s epileptic or some shit.”

Percy flicked the bracelet around. Narcoleptic, it said, etched right there in shining silver next to a little caduceus.

Brilliant boy.

“Narcoleptic,” Percy corrected, loudly enough for a sizeable chunk of the crowd to hear.

“Narcoleptic!” Leo cried out in response. “Will he be okay?”

Percy was impressed, deeply, until Leo winked at him right there in front of everyone.

Ridiculous boy.

“He’ll be fine,” Percy said sharply. “Just— Could you help me take him to my car?”

“Certainly!” Leo was already pulling Joe to his feet, groaning under the weight that he really should have expected. Percy moved himself under an arm to take the majority of the heft he was used to handling, though, unconscious, laid out on his back across the floor of an airport, Joe presented more of a challenge than usual. They made it about three feet, Joe’s lead-like legs dragging on the floor behind them, when they were set upon by no less than four airport officials with a medical kit, shoving everyone out of the way, and insisting Percy and Leo lay Joe back down.

“He’s fine,” Percy grunted. “Narcoleptic. It happens a lot.”

“Does he have a medical bracelet or something?” Leo asked. “To prove that?”

Percy’s cheek twitched with irritation, but he controlled himself. “He does, actually. Would you mind lifting his sleeve just there? The left one.”

Leo wrenched it up accordingly, and Percy scanned the faces of the officials for the acceptance they soon showed. Until Leo’s display of bobbing eyebrows set at least one of them on their guard. “And how can we be sure you know this gentleman?”

“His name’s Joe Bruno,” Percy supplied. “His passport’s in his top left pocket.”

Leo had the good sense to let the man reach in and find it for himself. He eyed the passport. He eyed Joe, Percy, Leo, and the passport again.

Percy’s arm began to shake under the weight, the heat of his sweat making his grip slippery, his bag cutting into his shoulder, Cleo’s skull knocking against his thigh. His mental resources were already wildly depleted, and he wondered how far he’d get if he knocked the man to the ground right there and made a break for it.

The man turned, made to say something to one of the others, but then, “Percy!” Althea’s voice cut across the wide room. Shewas breathless at his side a second later. “He hasn’t passed out again, has he?”

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