Percy wasn’t quite sure what to make of this.
He’d come back to their apartment only to find Annabeth sitting on the edge of the living room couch staring at the heap of laundry on the floor. A few items of clothing were neatly folded around her and a shirt hung limply from her hands.
“Uh… Annabeth?” he stepped cautiously toward her, worried that she might be having a flashback to Tartarus. It seemed like the only logical explanation, and if that was the case, it was best not to startle her. He made his voice as gentle as possible.
“It’s okay… I’m here…”
“It moved.”
Percy froze. “What?”
“The pile of laundry. It moved.” She was soundlessly drawing her knife.
Percy’s mind switched into action mode. At this point, he shouldn’t have been surprised by anything. He’d faced monsters of every shape and size in every place imaginable—even a public rest stop. (Road trips to Camp Jupiter were now off-limits. They either itched a ride with Nico or went by Pegasus.) He wasn’t frightened, and he didn’t entertain the idea that it wasn’t a monster. Now he was just angry at the idea of being attacked in the safety of his own home. He’d never heard of a monster that could disguise itself as a seemingly harmless pile of clothes, but he didn’t question what monsters were capable of anymore. Besides, he had a sword that could transform into a seemingly harmless pen, so was it really that much of a stretch?
He took said pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. With a nod to Annabeth, they both approached the pile. She circled around so that they had it covered from either side. A sock twitched and Percy’s gaze snapped to it. He waited for the pile to move again. It stayed still long enough that his arm poised to strike with Riptide was growing tired. Just as Annabeth opened her mouth to suggest something, Percy saw movement and a flash of green.
“There!”
He had the longer reach, so he stabbed first. The point of his sword missed the green thing as it launched toward him and landed on his face with an unpleasant splat! He yelped and dropped Riptide, trying to swat the thing away. He felt webbed feet scrambling for purchase. It was crawling up his face, covering his eyes and heading toward his hair.
“Percy, wait! Hold still!” Annabeth was at his side. Her cool fingers brushed against his nose and came away holding whatever had just attacked him. In her hands sat the biggest, grumpiest toad he had ever seen.
“What the—where did that thing come from?”
“I don’t know.” She was biting her lip, trying not to laugh. “He must have found his way in when it rained yesterday.” The toad started squirming in her grasp and she squealed. “Open the door for me?”
“Right, yeah.” He rushed to get it for her and she practically threw the thing out onto the walkway. The toad shook itself off and waddled away, completely unbothered.
“How did that thing survive the drier?” Percy wondered as he pulled the door shut.
“No idea.” Annabeth was cringing, holding her hands away from her body as if they were diseased. She walked toward the kitchen. “I’m going to wash my hands. You should wash your face.”
“Good idea.” He picked up Riptide and headed for the bathroom. “Another mighty foe vanquished by the uh… mighty heroes. I can’t say mighty twice, dang it.”
“Leave the poetry to Apollo, seaweed brain,” she called back, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
“Did I at least use ‘vanquished’ right?”
“Not sure if it counts if we didn’t kill the toad.”
“Dam.”
…
When the demigods were out of sight, the pile stirred again. A single sock slipped down to the floor like it was wilting with relief. It stifled another sneeze and inched its way toward the door. It flattened itself as best it could and started working its way through the crack. It took some work and a fair bit of swearing that nobody could hear, but it managed to wriggle its toe out to the fresh air.
Something clamped down on the sock and yanked it out of the threshold. It was dropped unceremoniously on the concrete and an unimpressed toad was staring down at it.
“That was a close one,” the witch’s familiar croaked. “You’re welcome.”
The mimic shook itself off as best it could. “Just be grateful you didn’t have to be on that boy’s smelly foot. Let’s go. I need to find a new form.”
They left together with the demigods none the wiser. Only weeks later would Percy rifle through his drawers looking for a matching sock and wonder why it was only the left ones he could never seem to find.
(“Maybe it got up and walked away,” Annabeth would tease, and they would both laugh because that was obviously absurd.)
