We Get Dangerously Fancy
Fancy Water had as much foot traffic as I would have expected from a perfume shop called Fancy Water … meaning none.
Grover and I watched the place from across the street. Nobody went in.
Nobody went out. No one looked at us funny. No polecats farted in our general direction.
The facade was more low-key than Aeaea’s. Instead of big picture windows, the main entrance was all frosted glass. I couldn’t see inside and had no idea what might be waiting to kill us and/or spritz us with fragrance.
I could, however, sense a water spirit close by. It wasn’t something I normally would have noticed. Like, I don’t walk down the street and see
little glowing blue dots pop up like I’m playing a Pokémon game. But once I’ve been told to be on the lookout for water spirits, I can put myself in that frame of mind. When I get close enough, I can pick up their presence, like I’ve walked into a microclimate where the air pressure is a little different.
“A naiad’s in there,” I said. “You sense Gale at all?” Grover frowned. “I don’t have weasel radar.”
“Polecat.” “Oh, stop.”
I smiled. It felt good to get back to our normal banter, even if we were on a dangerous cologne-related stakeout.
I knew we should march right into the shop. The day was a-wasting, and a mustelid’s life might be at stake. But still I hesitated. Maybe almost getting vaporized had made me wary. Or maybe I was learning to be careful as I got older. Nah, that probably wasn’t it.
“I’ve been thinking about Gale’s past,” I said. “She was a mortal witch, right? Apparently really good at making potions.”
Grover nodded. “So maybe she came down here looking for a place to hide out. Filomena figured out who she was. If Filomena offered her a job making … whatever Miracle is, Gale could be raking in the polecat bucks.”
I considered that. “If Gale feels appreciated, she might not want to leave. And if there are three more potion-throwing naiads involved …”
Grover shivered. “This could get ugly. You sure we don’t want to buy some rain ponchos?”
I wished I knew more about Greek witchcraft. I usually tried to deal with such things by stabbing the magic-maker as quickly as possible and/or
running away. When it came to how fast a witch could zap, what they could zap you with, and how to prevent such zappage, I was in the dark.
“I don’t think waterproof clothes are going to be enough,” I decided. “It’s a store, right? Whoever’s in there, they won’t necessarily know who we are.
Let’s pretend to be customers.” “Except Filomena recognized you.”
I frowned. “Right. And I have no idea where we met. Do you?”
Grover shook his head. “It seemed like she knew you, not me. I could go in alone.”
“No way.” I tried to think. It wasn’t easy without Annabeth to do ninety percent of it for me. “Let’s just bluff it out. We go in looking for a gift. If a naiad recognizes me, I’ll improvise.”
Grover scratched his horns. “Let me take the lead. Not to criticize your improv talents, but …”
“Fine,” I said. “We can do this.”
I said this not because I believed it, but because 1) I wanted it to be true, and
2) I was impatient and needed to do something, even if that something was dangerous.
We strolled across the street.
Grover pushed open the door, triggering a chirpy electronic beep. Instantly, I was hit by a wall of overpowering scents—so much patchouli, ginger, and pumpkin that my eyes started to sting. Through the haze, I spotted a few glass display counters, two salon chairs, and, behind the register, a woman absorbed in a magazine. She looked like Filomena, but with longer dark hair. She wore a pink dress under a cosmetics lab coat, and tortoiseshell sunglasses shielded her eyes—maybe from the intense fragrances swirling around.
“Welcome,” she said flatly, not even glancing up from her magazine. Her voice had a tired tone, like she was used to slow days and few sales. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thanks,” Grover replied.
I scanned the store—no polecats, no raw chickens, no bags of weasel treats. The place was sparse and oddly depressing. But the saleswoman was definitely a naiad; I could feel the water energy flowing from her like a stream. So far, she hadn’t noticed me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Grover strolled to the counter with a friendly grin. “I’m looking for a gift. For my girlfriend. She’s, uh, a juniper bush?”
The woman did a double take. From where I stood, pretending to browse, I could see her reevaluating Grover. Realizing he was a satyr, she quickly shifted into Greek-myth mode: Alright, you’re magical, I’m magical, let’s do business.
“A juniper dryad!” she said, now smiling cautiously. “What’s the occasion? Her bloom day?”
“No, just an early Saturnalia present,” Grover explained. “If I don’t start holiday shopping early, I get overwhelmed.”
“Oh, I understand! Very thoughtful of you. Have you been here before? I don’t remember seeing you.”
“No, but I’ve heard great things. Grover Underwood, Cloven Elder.” He put out his hand. After a moment of shock, she shook it.
“A Cloven Elder.” Her smile warmed to just above tepid. “It’s an honor.”
“And your name is … Fancy?” he guessed. “I’ve heard you make the best
water.”
She pursed her lips like she was trying to stay polite and not yell at the VIP. My hand crept toward Riptide in case things went south, but Grover seemed to be selling his act as a harmless knucklehead, which was usually my role.
“Actually, it’s Silbe,” said the naiad. “Sylvie.”
“No, Sil- BEE, with a b.”
“Of course,” Grover said. “That is much fancier. So, what would you recommend for my Juniper?”
“Well, let’s see.” Silbe scanned the display cases. “Juniper pairs well with citrus … say grapefruit or orange?”
“Citrus makes me sneeze,” said Grover.
A lot of things made Grover sneeze. It seemed to me he didn’t need to share that information. I was afraid he’d forgotten why we were here and we’d actually end up leaving with a Saturnalia gift.
“Right,” said Silbe. “Sneezing on her wouldn’t be very romantic!” Her eyes drifted to the case where I was standing and trying to eavesdrop
without being too obvious. Silbe’s eyes caught mine. Her expression frosted over with suspicion.
“You look familiar,” she said. “I’m sure we’ve met.” “Hmm?” I mumbled. “Mm. Hmm …”
Eloquence is one of my superpowers.
“Oh, he tags along with me a lot,” Grover said. “He’s no one important.”
Ouch, I thought. But his tone seemed to do the trick. Silbe returned her attention to the display cases. “Well, perhaps another wood scent, like cypress.”
“That sounds nice,” Grover agreed. “Though I’ve heard there’s something new on the market. Something very exclusive. I’m pretty sure a friend of mine bought a bottle here recently. Something called Miracle?”
Silbe recoiled. “We don’t sell that here. Cheap imitation magic. You must be confusing me with my sister Filomena. If you’re in the market for shoddy
goods like that, you can find her shop just down the—”
“Oh, my mistake!” Grover said quickly. “Sorry, sorry. My friend told me to
avoid Miracle. I remember now. They said you had something much better.”
Silbe wavered. I could tell she was battling several different feelings: resentment, suspicion, but also the need to show off and make a sale.
“Miracle is a love-potion hoax,” she grumbled. “I would never waste my
time on such an inferior recipe. My newest product is much more exclusive. We only have a few vials left.”
She walked over to my display case, nearly backing me into the wall. Grover gave me a panicked look, then trotted after her.
From the lowest shelf, Silbe pulled a small blue box. The lid was embossed in gold: SPELLBOUND.
“Ooh,” Grover said. “Fancy.”
“Indeed,” said Silbe. “An ancient recipe from one of the finest alchemists ever to mix potions. Rediscovered … well, just this week, in fact. It’s a Fancy Water exclusive.”
“How did you rediscover the recipe?” I asked.
I knew immediately that I’d made a mistake by speaking. Silbe’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s not important,” she said.
The air between us started to shimmer, water droplets collecting into a fine mist. Before we could start a miniature rainstorm, Grover intervened. “I
love this! How much?”
Silbe smiled. “For a Cloven Elder, I’m sure we can arrange the friends-and- forest discount. Only a thousand golden drachmas.”
Grover gulped. “What a deal.” He sounded like he’d been sucking helium. “Can you gift wrap it?”
“Of course,” said Silbe. “But first, you should really try the scent, to make sure your girlfriend will like it.”
She opened the box and produced a glowing blue vial with a spritz top. She aimed it at Grover, who stepped back instinctively. “Um …”
“Oh, you’re right,” Silbe apologized. “You wouldn’t have the right chemistry profile for Spellbound. Your friend here is a better test subject.”
Before I could say Blue’s not my color, she spritzed me right in the face.
I admit it—she outplayed me. The stuff got in my nostrils, my eyes, my mouth. It tasted exactly like I imagined Gale’s weasel treats tasting, which wasn’t good.
“Look, lady,” I said. Then my mouth stopped working. My arms turned to sandbags. My legs crumpled. I crashed sideways onto the floor, completely paralyzed.
“Perfect.” Silbe knelt over me as Grover scrambled back, terrified.
“I remember you now, Percy Jackson,” she said. “Your friend is right. You’re no one. Or at least, you’re about to be!”
