The first time is more accident than intent.
The monsters find him when he's tired and alone – dog-like things with wings and teeth that drip something that isn't just saliva. Their eyes glow like the moon and he stops dead as he realises what they are and that there are too many of them to fight.
They turn unerringly towards him, their eyes glowing like the moon and he stops dead as he realises what they are.
Monsters.
Nico might not have been at Camp Half-Blood long enough to know everything those people thought he should know, but he remembers Dr. Thorn, and he remembers the stories the other campers told about the monsters they encountered on their way to Camp Half-Blood.
This time, standing on an empty path in Central Park under a full moon, Nico knows fear. There's no Percy Jackson and his friends to defend him, no Percy Jackson to blame. There's just him and the monsters that bare their dripping teeth and start the chase.
Angry and tired and hungry and frustrated, terror clogs his thoughts and the only coherent thought in his mind is to run.
So he does.
The tourists see nothing more than a boy scared of a bunch of dogs.
They don't see the fangs or the scrabbling claws. They don't see the glowing eyes or the way the monsters slip through the spaces that are already filled by mortal bodies.
They don't see Nico trip beneath the darkness of the arch and scrape his palms in the darkness, crying out in fear and pain. He rolls to the side of the arch, thinking that facing the monsters would be better with his back against a wall, even as he wishes he'd stayed at camp, even as he yearns for somewhere safe, somewhere he can hide, somewhere—
He rolls into a stack of car tyres – at least, he supposes that's what they are as they wobble menacingly above him.
Nico scrambles to his feet, his heart racing, but if the pile tilts precariously for a moment, it stays standing.
He lets out a long, breath, wondering what just happened. One moment he was in Central Park, about to be eaten by monsters, the next moment—
It looks like a mechanic's garage. It smells dusty and unused. There's a faux-leather couch in the corner with a well-worn cowhide on top that's seen better days.
Exhaustion hits him like a storm, and he stumbles towards the sofa, his only thought to lie down.
Cowhide has never smelled so good before.
He wakes to bright sunlight, but his stomach is crying for food. He stumbles through the workshop and into the adjacent office and finds a fridge – no power – with cans of soda in it.
Nico opens a Coke and a root beer, and manages to drink both before exhaustion overcomes him again. He grabs the jacket hanging over the back of the office door, stumbles back to the couch and falls asleep again.
That forms the pattern of his days – wake, drink soda, sleep.
He dreams of monsters but doesn't remember them, only waking with a sense of horror that lingers long after the dream is gone.
The second time is more deliberate, in the sense that Nico actually knows what it is he wants to do, although not quite how he should do it.
He's started to feel the tug of the shadows, even when standing under the midday sun. Yesterday, he nearly managed to cloak himself in them for a couple of seconds. He was successful enough that a female jogger stopped and stared at him, before shaking her head and moving on.
He knows what he wants to do, but he has no idea of how to control it – it was one thing that Minos couldn't teach him, or even tell him about, since only the children of Hades can do it, and not all of them can.
Nico can. And he wants to learn how.
So he takes a deep breath and lets the shadows take him.
And lands in bright moonlight scattered in patches. The air is fresh with crisp pine leaves and rich soil and an overlying sense of dampness. A river gurgles nearby and in the sudden silence of the forest, Nico knows that there's someone – or something – out there.
He's not where he intended to be – in a crypt in Arlington that he has vague memories of visiting when he was younger, holding someone's hand – but at least he's not as exhausted as he was the first time. Sort of.
The world spins a little, and when it stops, he's on his side and there's a pair of jogger-shod feet in his line of vision. Which is good, because monsters don't generally wear joggers. Then one of them – white and well-worn – nudges him ungently in the ribs, and Nico decides that human or not, the sneaker wearer is an asshole.
High above his head, someone says something in a language that he doesn't recognise.
Another set of joggers– neon Nikes – move into his line of vision and a boy crouches down – thirteen, maybe fourteen years old – with skin that's a few shades darker than even Nico's own olive. He looks Asian, and speaks gently, putting out a hand to stop the grubby whites from nudging him again.
"Do you speak English, motherfucker?"
Nico rolls onto his back, startled by both the yell and the words. Grubby White Runners – also Asian – grins toothily at him.
Above his head, a third voice, female, says something sharp and crisp. There's a second when it sounds like Bianca, but when Nico turns, the line of her jaw and the way she moves is all wrong.
She crouches down beside him, a long black braid swinging down by her knee. "English?" Her accent is pretty thick, but she gets the point across.
"American," he manages.
"You can stand?"
It takes him a moment to realise she's asking if he can get up. He tries, but it takes her assistance, and the assistance of Neon Nikes to get up. Then they start leading him somewhere – he hopes it's somewhere he can lie down because right now he just wants to be sick—
Then Neon Nikes puts his hand on Nico's forehead and the nausea recedes – just like that.
And with the nausea goes any lingering bit of energy Nico has.
He remembers Grubby Runners saying something sneering, the girl's biting retort, and then nothing else.
Nico groans as he rolls over on a sleeping bag. There's a tent over his head, and a boy sitting at the entrance – Neon Nikes, although right now he's barefoot. It's grey daylight outside and the air has a slight bite to it – like it's closer to winter than the middle of summer.
His stomach rumbles. Neon Nikes grins, and tosses him three plastic-wrapped energy bars and a bottle of water. Nico assumes they're energy bars because there's fruit and nuts visible through the plastic with the gooey look of things stuck together with the application of large amounts of honey.
They're the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and he licks he wrappers.
Meanwhile, Neon Nikes calls out something, and a moment later the girl comes in.
"Awake?"
"Yes. Thanks. Where am I?"
"China," she says. My name is Lisa."
China. Nico blinks at just how far he's ended up. "Wow. Oh," he says because he realises she's waiting for an introduction. "I'm Nico."
"You are child of gods, yes?"
"Yes. I mean, I'm a child of a god. Just one."
"Death." Neon Nikes shrugs when Lisa frowns at him. "He carry 影子."
Nico doesn't know what 影子are, but he does wonder how Neon Nikes can see him carrying it.
Lisa sighs. "Liu knows these things – it his gift. He is also child of gods. We are all children of gods." Outside, Grubby Runners is hovering, scowling at Nico and his companions in the tent. Nico can't imagine what god would have been his parent. Did the Chinese have a god of bullies? "You far from home."
"I was trying to get to...to a place I know. I think...I guess I pushed too hard. Went too far."
Lisa's eyes narrow for a long moment, before she turns and says something to Liu. He makes a face and his reply is musical, but Nico can hear the warning in it, even if he doesn't understand exactly what's being said. Lisa says something back – sharp and chiding, and Liu grins and this time his tone is clearly reassuring.
Outside the tent, Grubby Runners is still hovering outside, clearly listening even if he's not joining in. Nico scowls at him and pulls the darkness around him, just for a moment. In response, Grubby Runners bares his teeth, and Nico has a brief, confusing impression of sharpness.
"Stop that," Lisa says, as Liu says what's probably the same thing to Grubby Runners. "This is not playtime. You not be so baby, all showoff. You learn," she pauses, searching for the word and failing to find it, "You learn 纪律 – how master your strength, not just—" Her hand makes scattering gestures, like someone tossing things out around them.
"But how am I supposed to—?"
She points at the boy in the entrance of the tent. "Liu will teach you mastery. Breathing. Thinking. Concentrate."
Nico stares at her for a moment, suspicious. Dealing with Minos taught him that people rarely want something for nothing. "And what do you want in return?"
"Speak to spirits," Lisa says, quite simply.
He's getting better at it – this time, at least, he only crashed into the wall after manifesting in the crypt. But he scrapes his shoulder against the wall, and the inhabitants of the crypt aren't exactly happy about it.
Whaddya have to do that for? Can't a man get any rest around here? Arthur Wainwright (loving father and husband) pokes his head out of his plaque and glares at Nico. You young people!
Maybe he was just in a rush, murmurs his wife, Dorothy Wainwright (much beloved, much missed). I'm sure he didn't mean—
Mean it or not, we used to apologise for intruding! Arthur isn't going to stop anytime short of midnight, and Nico is tired and sore and not in a particularly good temper right now.
He turns on Arthur, and in spite of being small and slight for his age, he meets the old ghost's glare with one of his own. He may not be very good at shadow-travelling, but mortals, dead or alive, find it hard to meet his expression very long.
"I'm sorry," he says to Arthur in a clear and deathly quiet voice. The old man shrinks away, and Dorothy's mouth hangs open, her eyes staring in surprise. "It won't happen again."
And he's determined it won't.
He's been practising and practising, and while he's good enough to shadow-travel a couple of hundred miles with reasonable accuracy, he can't seem to get himself any further – at least, not without really pushing it.
And he still has no answers to the questions that plague him.
This time, when he ends up in China, he's not sure what he did to get there.
He almost expects to see the trio of Asian half-bloods again, even though they'd be off on their quest – Lisa's Quest, actually, seeking out a pair of swords that are apparently fairly crucial to the stability of things in China right now. Nico didn't ask for more information. He was never into politics, but he'd played Mythomagic often enough to know that two wars taking place on the same board was a very bad idea.
It's the same place that he landed last time – the same trees, the same rocks, even the same firepit with a fire burning in it.
The man sitting in front of the fire is new, though.
New and not-new, both – the fierce lines of brow and jaw almost familiar, like someone Nico met once, a long time ago.
"Hello, Nico di Angelo."
"Hello, father."
His father smiles. It is not a nice smile.
"I need to see Percy Jackson," he says.
And although he bears Percy no ill-will anymore, Nico suddenly sees the way clear to find the answers he's been seeking.
fin
Notes:
影子 - shadows
纪律 - discipline