Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

around. “We descendants are more like the heroes of ancient leg-
end. Like Achilles and Prometheus, we have some, ah-hem, supernatural—”
“Whoa,” I interrupt. “We?”
“Damian is a descendant, as well,” Mom says.
I close my eyes and take a deep, deep breath. This just keeps getting
better. “All right.” I wave my hands at myself as if to say, Bring
it on. “You’re like heroes. . . ?”
“Yes,” he continues. “Like those you may have read about, we
have varying degrees of supernatural powers. In most descendants
the powers manifest pre-adolescence, though there are cases in
which they remain dormant until after puberty.”
“It’s really quite amazing,” Mom says, bubbling with enthusiasm.
“There are apparently built-in controls to protect the rest of the
world, with the gods monitoring all use of—”
I tune out. I mean, Mom seems honestly convinced and, until
recently, I’ve always trusted her judgment, but this isn’t exactly the
kind of thing that’s easy to accept. Like I can suddenly decide that
everything I’ve ever learned about the Greek gods is not just some
fluff story English teachers make you learn. No, it’ll take more than
Damian’s say-so to move the Greek gods from the fairy-tale land
of Santa Claus, werewolves, and Cinderella into everyday reality.
But even if I’m not a believer in “alternative realities,” as Nola calls
them, I’m willing to keep an open mind. Sure, I’ll believe they’re
real. Just as soon as I see one. . . .
“Well, well,” the girl who just appeared next to Damian says. “I
see the barbarians have arrived.” When I say appeared, I don’t mean
she walked up and there she was by his side. No, she appeared. As in
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