Once again, the welcoming smell of grease greeted the boy.

Sadly, the employee did as well. "You're back, kid."

Nico looked rather amused. It was a cold sort of smile that appeared on his face in place of his formerly regular childish grin.

"You're back," the man repeated stupidly. He seemed to be the stereotypical New York fast-food guy—broke, idiotic, and living with his mom, not paying for college, a house, or something respectable.

""Yeah," Nico said, "it was pretty cold out. It still is, actually." he stuffed his freezing fingers once more into hid pockets.

"I hope you have money."

Nico nodded calmly. He pulled out a fistful of coins, counting each one. Finally, after adding the total amount of change in his hand he said, "Menu?" His eyes moved up to the neon board above the counter. "Ah, I see it."

He proceeded to order a one-dollar burger (he prayed there wouldn't be any of the shiny silver foil on it), fries, and a coke. Fine dining, Bianca would have said.

Oh, how he wished she could still say that. He'd give anything. She just had to come back. One more chance to hear her voice, one last chance to hold her hand was all that the boy wanted. Nico just wanted to see her one more time.

"Where's your family, cheapskate?" the man asked, clearly annoyed by the child's lack of spending a fortune on the ten-dollar salad or something equally ridiculously priced.

Nico's dark eyes grew wide. They glared at the man. Endless hate was burning in them. Where was his family? Where did they go? Where were they? All of them were gone! The only person he'd ever had was Bianca. Now, even she was gone. It took every bit of strength Nico had left not to burst into tears right there, but he was more dignified than that. "You shouldn't be asking. You should be working. Maybe visit some other customers. You seem to be paying slightly too much attention to me specifically." He spoke boldly, each word surprisingly well-pronounced, despite the fact that there was an ever-growing lump in his throat. Every letter was prounced clearly and sharply, like glass.

The man's beady eyes unfocused for a moment, confused. "Mhm," he muttered. "Maybe I should."

The demigod nearly jumped. The voice was different, though Nico couldn't exactly place how.

The man disappeared for a moment, only to return again, carrying a plastic tray with four overly large cups of soda and just as many Happy Meals. "For you," he mumbled dizzily.

Obviously, Nico was startled by the sight and proclamation that these were his. "I didn't order those."

The employee looked shock for a minute, sick for another, and finally, relieved. Recovering, he looked down and mimicked a happy tone. "You're our one millionth customer!" More surprising than that still, was the confetti he threw into the air, faking joy.

This seemed rather unbelievable. He recalled someone at Westover describe this scene with a forty-year-old buyer and a teenage worker. Also, the boy was well-aware that McDonald's had well over one million customers. He briefly considered that this branch alone had reached one million customers, but he doubted it. Most likely, it was some sort of scam.

Another person was lying to him. It was just the thing to make him feel better. (Please take notice of the sarcastic tone of that last sentence.)

Apparently, the employee noticed that Nico was wearing an expression of disbelief. However, words seemed to fail him, so Nico was left staring blankly into the echoing New York restaurant.

After the last fading vibration of the man's phony shouts of joy had died out and an awkward silence fell over them, Nico spoke at last. "Why should I believe you? This is New York. This is McDonald's. It's full of shady people, scammers." He no longer sounded like a ten-year-old. His cheery, carefree voice was replaced by a growl. His attitude mirrored this perfectly. Now the change was even more noticeable due to the dark words that didn't feel like they belonged in his mouth.

Obviously annoyed, the man said, "Just go back outside. Try not to come back." And he shoved the tray at the startled boy, who stumbled out of the door.

The Santa was still there, ringing his annoying bell more loudly than Nico would have thought to be possible. Now, he had another companion. Ironically, it was the tallest man Nico had ever seen, dressed in green and red cloths with a lopsided hat. The "elf" (which clearly deserves quotes because it was merely being called one, but did not reflect the title) was quite the sight to behold, not only because of his height, but because the costume was unquestionably meant for someone more proper for the role; it was several sizes too small for the towering companion.

The bell kept ringing, and for the first time, Nico saw something about it he wanted to erase. The bell was silver, Shiny, new silver. Pure silver. Just like the Hunters, just like her. Silver. Just like the stars. Beautiful silver. Just like the color the shroud she never got would have been. Metallic silver. Just like her last sight—blood, oil, and metal. Perfect silver. Just like the figurine she died to have, the figurine she died to have for him. The figurine he'd left behind.

The rusty, red bucket echoed the same words, the same message. Silver were the coins that were scattered on its bottom. Many were unfading and perfect, like he had last seen her. They sang the same song he had heard before, of shining stars and figurines. Others, however, were faded, dirty, and imperfect. A chill went down Nico's back as he got an awful idea. That was how the aura around his sister looked as she finally died. Fading and sickly. He didn't want that. Slowly, the idea crept up on the boy. Maybe that ugly nickel from 1922 was the same color as the light around his sister as she took her final breaths.

A high-pitched voice broke the trance he was in. "Are you all right, kid?" It was the elf.

He wasn't. "I'm great," he lied. "Why wouldn't I be?

The Santa nudged his companion. "Right. Well, remember this, kid, if you've lost someone, you can always get back to them."

Nico was horrified. "What do you mean? I'm supposed to kill myself? I mean, I want to see Bianca, and sometimes I feel like just putting an end—"

He was cut off. The men smiled identically. "Talk to your father."

Nico, being awful at keeping anything quiet said, "You mean my father, like Ha—"

"Or just use the McDonald's."

Nico looked completely confused, but he grinned. "The McDonald's. Well, thanks!"

AN: Yes, the mystical power of McDonald's. Sometimes those city-folk are really puzzling. I would know. A few things I would like to point out: I have nothing against fast-food employees, the food itself (though I can't say I find it delicious in the least), or New Yorkers...or New Yorkers (or people of any other city) dressed as Christmassy figures. It may have seemed that I did. For a moment I thought of Fred and George with the sentence "The men smiled identically." I have no idea why. It was just awkward in my head... Anyway, I'll get the next chapter up eventually. Thanks for reading!
-Lexi