Epilogue - The Hunt

                                    

                                          
The teen collected her coffee then sat down in the leather chair at her usual table in the corner as she waited for her friend. She drummed her newly manicured nails (hot pink this time) on the table, occasionally taking a sip of her caramel latte.
                          
She glanced down at her watch, chewing the inside of her cheek as she watched the large hand move to point to the four. Helen was 10 minutes late. Though, it wasn't unlike her. She was often oversleeping thanks to her night-time habits of spell casting. Apparently, her mother's magic worked better in the dark.
                          
Even so, Helen would always text Estelle. Maybe she ran into some monster trouble, she pondered. Also not unusual for a daughter of Hecate - any demigod really.
                          
The teen pulled out her sea-green phone to call Helen when someone sat down at the table. Estelle glanced up, her brows furrowed in confusion. Sat across from her was a - what she judged to be - old woman (by that she guessed probably in her late 50's). The woman had dark, licorice hair cut into a perfect bob framing her pale face and sunken cheeks. She looked like she had been trapped in a dark room for days without water, and someone had come and given her a haircut just as she was released.
                          
She was dressed quite conspicuously - a dark trench coat and knee-length high heeled boots. Her hands were hidden by thin, fabric gloves and her eyes by a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses.
                          
"Uhhh hello?" Estelle said, not quite sure how to act in the situation.
                          
"Hello," the woman replied. Her voice sounded kind of strange, in the sense that it didn't sound like any American accent Estelle had heard of. One thing was for sure, she didn't look like she was leaving.
                          
"Can I help you?" The teen asked, awkwardly.
                          
"Yes, actually. I'm an old friend of your brother's," she said, grinning suspiciously.
                          
"You are?" Estelle questioned. As far as she knew, she'd met all of Percy's friends. And they were all around his age. She gripped her phone again, ready to call Percy and report that a suspicious monster or god was stalking her.
                          
The woman placed her hand over Estelle's, forcing the phone back onto the table. Her chestnut eyes widened in fear and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. What was this woman going to do to her?
                          
"There'll be no need for that my dear," the woman reassured Estelle in her sickly, sweet voice.
                          
"Who are you?" She growled.
                          
The woman raised her other hand to her face and grabbed the rim of her sunglasses. She lowered them into the tip of her nose, revealing a pair of mesmerising purple eyes. Estelle felt herself be drawn in, like her soul was being sucked out of her body and pulled into the violet pools.
                          
"My name does not matter," she said as she reached across the table to cup the girl's face. For some reason, she didn't pull away. 
                          
"It doesn't?" Estelle murmured sleepily.
                          
The woman smiled like she was pitying her. "No," she answered. "But you can call me Mistress."
                          
The words seemed to be dragged out of Estelle's throat. "Yes, Mistress."
                          
The woman smiled eerily and released Estelle's face. "Now darling, I need your help."
                          
Estelle gave a weak smile, like the corners of her mouth were being controlled with puppet strings. "Yes Mistress?"
                          
"I need you to tell me-" then the woman's sweet demeanor changed. She clenched her fist tighter over Estelle's hand, causing the girl to yelp as she dragged her gloved claws over the table, leaving shallow scratch marks.
                          
"Where. Is. Your. Brother?"
                          
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   Ṋ̵̡̺͈͇̗̮̓̈̍͗͆͌͘͘ͅi̸̗̗͔̤̹͂ͅc̷̠͈̪̳̜͍̣̣͋̒̑̋̈́̉͜o̵͎̤̙̜̱͓͉̼̞̤͂̾̐͑ ̷̢̢̦̻̬̹͎̲͖͋͑͌̈́͊̔͋͒̊͝D̶̢̪̥̥̦̗̬̜̲̽̽͊͘i̵̢̻̗̬͉͔̙̗͚͌͐͐́͛̅͜͝͠Ä̷͙͚̘́̽̾͐̽̏̈́͊̕̕ṉ̶̠̣̼̤͗͘͝͠g̴̨̢̹̼͚̙͔̫̘͑̽̐͆ę̴̖͙͚̺̫͇̩̓̾͠͝ĺ̸̯͎̾̎̆̏͆̂̏͠ơ̵͔̒̏̅̂́̑͝͝ ̸̜͇͍̻̺̤̈ͅ-̸͔̩̘͎͔͉́͛̕ͅ ̸̢̢̜̩̥̼̲̈̎̈́̀̅̒̂͝͠͝E̸͇̦̭̥̓͆́͑̑̑̓̒͝l̸͔̻̲̀i̶̩̻̥̙̝͚̞̤̫̩͛́̒m̵̛͇̍̉̄̐̑̓i̶̤̠̪̱̖̜̻̗̗̒͐̌̊̓̾͗̈́̓͝n̸̼̂̀͋a̸͇̩̩̘̣̤̜͕͋͒̈͋̋̅͛̊͗̚t̷̛̪͍̒̒̑͊̇e̶͖̿̀̓͝ͅd̵̟̱͚̯̿͗̀͑̀̓̀̈́ ̴̟́̾̒̒̊̔̓̀͘̚ ̸̲͖̘̊̉̓̓̽̏͠
                          
   P̵̩͊̈́̇̔̓͊̆̾͌͝ẹ̶̹̪̔r̸̨̜̺͔̫͉̱͔̫̿̈́͌̏̔̕͝ṡ̵̨͙͇̘̓̃̎́̉̏ͅé̸̱̙̉̀͆̎͘ư̴̯͈͎̹̈́̇͂̿̚̚s̶͚̼̞͇͔͌̉ ̸̡̼̮̠̠̼͎͔̜̌̈ͅJ̷̺̭̭̠͈̰͕͗̽̃̽ȃ̶̛̘͎̟̠̮̄͛̏͆̋̚ç̷̟͖͉̤͚͙͖̇ͅķ̴̣̒̏̎̈́͆͐ś̵̨̫̮̩̰̤̪̝̭̄̂͗́̌̚͘ͅó̴̡̖͔̤̲͎͕̠͉̓͒̈ͅn̴͍͓͉̪͂̂͗̒ ̵̻͒̋̎̌̑̏̾͝͠ ̸̙͎̙͕̪̺̎̃̀̄͘
                          
H̴̲̪̳̭̼͉̤̣̗̀ͅa̷͕̖̰̰̾̈̈́́̊̒̍̀͘͝z̵̮̓͆̃̒̏̀͘̕͘͝ͅè̸͈̬͔̗͙̞͉͉l̵̝̘̞̯͓̉̎ ̸̨̤̟̳̥̱̥̻̇́͋̈́͂L̷̡̯̘̠͉͖͖̓̒͜e̶̙͊̈́̐̇̋̔͂̐v̸̢̝̙̫̲͎͔͚͉̒̆̿e̸̹̩̖̗̟̪̲͂͌̔̏͗͒̑̔́͝s̸̖͖͔͆q̸̻͋̎́u̷̡̙̹̺͕̪͉̞̒͌̿͌͛͋̊͜͝ē̸͕̺͚̃͆̋͒͑̔̌͝ͅ ̷̢͉̰̂̍̋̂̍̄̔̌͝͠ ̷̯̠̻͗̏̇́̈́͠
                          
   M̷̨̢̛̲͈̮͙͖̥͇̹̿̔́͆̈̐͗̕à̸̙̪̻̪̱͉x̷̙͓̮̮̳̮̼͙̟̎̓̚̚͜͠ḯ̸̢͕̯̰̬̞̠͙͒̈̿̋͘n̵̙͒̆̑̊͒̅̈́e̷̠̮̞̐ ̵̨̘̻̦͎̀͑͋͗̊̄͘R̶̡̮̻̩̗̱̥̦̾̿͆̔͠ȋ̶̠̭c̵̞̯̦̪̘̠̯͖̏̎́̎͆̇͜ḩ̷̨̡̻̥̫̠̦͉͋͆̎͂̃͂̚͘ͅa̵̠͈̅̓r̴̬̽͌͐d̵̡͎̗͕̣̣̜͇̳̓̀̚ş̵̧̢͉̮̫̯̲̍̉͆̆ ̶͙̙̱͚̽̑͒̊̎̈̏̎͝-̴̟͎̤̀̒̈̎͑ ̴̪͈̦̰̋͊̈́̀̏͂Ȅ̸̜̦̥͈̞̀̌̾̎̇́́͝l̷̨͖̯̍͑͝į̵̨̘̦͈̙̳̼̫̀̏̑̓̒m̶̹͎̱̗̫͎̖̮͎͒̽̈́͒́̂̓͆̆̈́͜ị̸̞̙̯̟͕̳̊̿̑̆ñ̶̻̖̱̘̮̘̌̕ȁ̸͚͉̓̉̈̆͝͝ţ̵͍͕͔͖͕͓̀͑̉͆̇̆̚̚e̷̠͑͝d̸̡̼̙͙̝̀͂̕ ̸̧̇̊̃͆͜͝͝͝ ̴̢̻̫̥͙̺̝͓͕̓̒̐̍͘͝
                          
C̶̢̫̜̳̩̻̹̜͒h̵̨̺͔̱͙̽̀̎͂͌̾̀͑͘͝ä̵̡̳̠͎̫̲͖̥r̶̠͌̍́͗̾l̸̢̦͑̊̑̎̃͋̚͝͝e̴̩̳͒͊̔̑̿̚s̴̹̆̿̃͆̔͂̋̇̐͘ ̶̡̥͔̯̳̰̈́̓̋͜͝T̴̬̯̅͛̃͛̔̋̈́͘h̴̹͚̲̙͉̮́̓̌́̽̇̏̚͝o̴̻͂͘ŗ̴̢̗̠̬̟͍̀̿̕n̶̨̢̦̲̬͉̰͗̚ ̵̧̪̳̊̈͊͆̑͊͛͠͠͠-̶͕̈́̂ ̸̯̤̻̯͓̝͓͈́͜͝E̸̠̠̹̭̝̣͇̝̱͑̊̄̍l̶̡̛͍͇̂̈̔̋̊̔̕͠ĩ̷̩̹̲͓̱̟̗̐̿̊͌͠m̶̗͔̺̼̟̽̍̚͘͝į̵̻̰̠̼͕̫̫̞͊͝ͅn̶̡͓͇̪̝͎͚͇̦̉̓̄̂̈́̉̀͊̍ͅą̷̮̠̟̂́̈́͑͌̕͝t̵̰̘̝̯̰̞̖͖̝̭̀̓̀e̷̡͇͙̠̘͂̌͝d̵͓̤̘͚̩̠̘̩̝̔̍ͅ
                          


                          
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