DISCLAIMER: We do not own PJatO, or HoO, or Nico di Angelo. Rick Riordan does.

NOTE: I will say this again; this is the SEQUEL to REBELS, and I suggest you read Rebels FIRST if you haven't already! Thank you!

oOo

I sucked in a breath and turned, watching and listening, feet silent in the snow. The crisp air had everything locked into perspective for me; the scene was familiar, the house to my right and the fence to my left and the street across the yard in front of me. The perspective was new. Alien, yet familiar. Not quite what I knew before. I tried once more to locate my attacker, but he had vanished into the dying sunlight, silent as the shadows.

You know what I hate the most?

Alarm clocks aside?

Big changes that aren't really changes – they're just the result of life's lies falling away, revealing now what had been the truth all along.

It's like growing up your whole life and at age twenty-one learning you were adopted because your real parents abused you as an infant. Or believing that babies came from white crane-looking birds with little white handkerchiefs. See how long those illusions last.

Or when you spend your whole life dancing the swing only to find out that in reality, to survive, you must dance a little dirtier and to a beat that has no embellishing notes.

I listened for those beats now, but they were gone. The beats were long gone. The one I'd followed in the past had died, and the one I so desperately tried to dance to now had been concealed. Hidden and laced within the shadows and soft breeze and forlorn trees looming ahead over the neighbor's fence. My opponent had vanished.

My loyal sword, Întuneric, hummed aggressively in my hands, daring him to come out. But he was smarter than that. He could afford to take his time, anyway; I was no threat…

I turned again, scanning the shadows along the side of the house and along where the cars were parked behind it. No. That's what he wanted me to think, that I was insignificant. I was well aware how badly a mistake it was to give in to that. At least, the basics of fighting had stayed the same, even if its dance had long since faded away and quietly, on its own, died.

It was hard for me to find ground, now that it was gone.

He knew this. My opponent. My attacker. I turned again, scanning the fence and the pine branches stretching above it, taking in each shade of darkness they cast. My ears rang with the silence. A car went past, hissing on the snow beneath its tires, but I ignored it.

Click.

I whirled at the bone-chilling sound. It was like the cocking of a gun. But no one stood there, on the ice before the house; the wind didn't even blow.

No, but I could feel him here somewhere. The way a mouse could feel a stalking, hungry cat.

It was not noise, scent, sound, taste, nor touch to give him away. It was something deeper. A sixth sense, the one I'd used to scan the shadows in the yard, twisted and curled just the slightest, like a fly crawling along your leg. There but not there. Just a little telltale whisper.

Behind me.

I spun and leaned back, swinging Întuneric up before me just in time. I didn't see him or his blade – just a vague dark shape, and not noticed through sight – but instead felt it. A sword came to a hard standstill against Întuneric. The strength behind the blow made me give by two inches.

An audible snarl echoed around us, and he solidified, seeming to be fashioned from the shadows. He moved his sword to strike, and seeing the opening, I lunged –

Stygian iron screeched angrily as it clashed, our swords locked again. Before I could react, he had another blade drawn, a short dagger in his left hand. It sliced through the air less than a centimeter from my face. I moved to dodge, freeing his sword and distracting mine.

A deadly black arc swung at me from the side, and too fast for me to react, for he could use the shadows to keep up with any move I made. His arm shot forward and grabbed me, one shoulder gripped painfully in his hand and the other assaulted by his elbow, and slammed me up against the wall. Pain lanced through me and the air in my lungs vanished.

The cold edge of his sword pressed into my throat, threatening to break the skin. Black eyes glared at me hatefully from behind messy, uncut hair. His breath smelled of stale beef jerky.

Ice lodged itself in my windpipe as his sword pressed harder.

"You," he said, "suck at defense."

His gaze slid away like a fish into the shadows beneath water and he took his arms back to himself, leaving me to drop to my feet in the snow. I scowled and rubbed my throat. "Against a knife and a short sword? Yes. But I'm learning, so you can stop griping."

I'd have tolerated the comment if it'd come from anyone else. Well, maybe. But between my half-brother's sharp tongue, his new position as my mentor, and my general lack of social graces, there was little room to be polite.

But I was nicer than I had once been to him, and he a lot nicer to me.

I continued talking without pause, knowing that I had a job as his mentor, too. "You're getting better at the shadows. I hardly saw you coming, and you didn't overshoot and run halfway through Canada this time. Does it still exhaust you?"

"Not as much as before. I think the overshooting had something to do with it," he mused, walking back towards our accustomed spaces at the center of the snow-covered yard. White frost crunched beneath his boots. "Still more taxing than I'd like, though."

I shrugged and shook my head. "Practice, I guess."

He turned and faced me, the street behind him. Ten feet of stirred, white, glittering snow and the cold air were between us. His black sword fit nicely in his hands before him and stood out against the rumpled, dirty tan of his aviator's jacket. The fabric was torn, shredded, and frayed. Somewhere, liquid obsidian eyes were boring into me the same way. The air between us now was so tense, the snow seemed to curl up and twitch with anxiety.

My fingers curled around Întuneric's handle. The blade hummed and tensed. The shadows on the edges of the yard began to flicker, twitch, bend and reach…

…Blackness slammed over the world. It became dark shades and cold wind so strong it was like solid ice. Far off, something snarled angrily at my intrusion. The shadows nearby purred and gathered at my side, curling around me like affectionate cats at mealtime to the one who feeds them. I tasted them, felt them, sensed every movement with something so deep inside. Întuneric had turned to a stick drowning in the swaths and cloaks of shadows.

Fast as lighting, another blade clothed in darkness shot at me.

Here laid the remains of my swing. A strange pattern, new, slick, dirty moves, but still familiar. One-on-one was like this. Though he played to no beat and I had learned to do the same, at least to change it up too fast, we still danced.

He swerved around me as if he were flying on the wind, nothing but a streak of dark shadows behind his sword. Black magic spilled from him.

My own shadows roiled and festered, striking back, and the magic between us died. I ran at him, moving so fast it hardly took a moment, so eager tear at him and have him lash back that I could feel the urge burning in my throat.

Our blades met with the silent, solid crash of colliding shadows. He and I sped around one another, moving all at one speed and one speed only, no sneaky tricks pulled by speed. I pulled and twisted with the shadows. His own magic growled at me.

His sword swooped low and I jumped, lifting above it, and swung at him with Întuneric. He flitted out of the way and slammed his sword into me – no, more shadows, as another blast threatened his exposed side. With an angry yell, he abandoned me, and dodged.

I whirled on him again, moving through the shadows, dancing with them. Now, there was a beat. I made my own.

His sword moved for my throat and then for my stomach faster than I could blink. Întuneric parried the former, and I shot him down with shadows before he could achieve the rest. He shrieked, a sound that echoed eerily here, and fired his own blast.

I waved it aside and charged, firing as I went. His sword moved in ways I didn't know a sword could. But here, in this realm, in the shadows, swordplay was not what decided the victor.

I blasted his sword aside with another burst of shadows and slammed into him so hard, the world burst into existence around us and we left the shadows behind. Wilting sunlight burned my eyes and the white glitters of the snow shone like fallen stars –

-We collided with the neighbor's fence so hard, it shook and creaked and groaned, cracking beneath Nico's shoulders. A small grunt escaped him, and though he was winded, he tensed beneath me and growled. Black eyes glittered with a strong, furious lust for survival. The familiar hate of a raven, the hate he no longer hid from me now, threatened to dig a knife into my throat.

Yet he didn't move to attack or save himself. I restrained my instincts, too, settling for my sword at his throat. "I win," I smiled sweetly.

The light of the fight died in his eyes, hate included, and was replaced with what I recognized as his 'always face.' That expression, those eyes, that he wore all the time and could mean anything. I stood and offered him my hand. "Practice. It'll get better."

He took it, panting, and hauled himself to his feet. "I guess." The hate in his eyes wasn't entirely gone, just a flicker, unease and mistrust and fury buried beneath a half-hearted mask. He hid many things, but not his dislike for me. I took comfort in the fact that he didn't despise me as much as he had when we first met. There was a time in our past when… Well, darker things had happened, and I'd done things worthy of his hate, but I had no idea which in particular he loathed me for. Part of me wished I did. It's hard to understand the teachings when you can't understand the teacher.

He walked to the center of the clearing, snow crunching beneath his boots. The late-October sun cast orange light and blue shadows across his dark clothes. Without looking at me, he asked, "Have you discovered any more memories from Întuneric?"

I shifted nervously, suddenly queasy. "…No."

I dragged it out, tugged on the word and the tone like I did the shadows, shaping the lie. I was ashamed. I didn't want to come to him with nothing, after weeks of searching my blade. He'd believe it.

And he was inclined to. I was a good liar. But he knew to suspect my lies by now. His deep, oil-black gaze turned to meet mine. "None?"

"I've tried," I told him, "but there's nothing in it. Save the ones from the Second Titan War." The ones Întuneric and I had killed together.

He shrugged and looked out across the street. "Huh. Strange. I don't think Kronos was able to craft that blade on his own. He had to have found it from somewhere…"

Buy it. Please buy it.

When his gaze found mine again, it was full of that strong contempt. Mistrust was laced throughout his voice. "And what of its memories from you? Do you go over them often?"

I shook my head and stared at my feet. Guilt for so much more than my lie built in my throat. The empty air to my right burned unnaturally. He didn't understand what he was asking of me, to relive even those memories…

Nico's gaze shifted to an emotion I couldn't name, and he opened his mouth to speak-

"Dinner!" someone called.

We both jumped and whirled, staring at the threshold to the house. Brook, eleven years old and burnet curls mussed from the lazy Sunday spent at home, waved at the two of us. A smile broke out across my face. The tension in the air only built – Nico didn't like strangers that much – but, now that I wasn't alone with him, suddenly became manageable. Together, there was little that troubled us. Even in terms of wordplay. The familiarity of my sister was the best blessing I could ever have.

"Hey!" I called, jogging over. I waved for Nico to follow. He did reluctantly, stepping in my footprints as he picked he way slowly to the door. "What's cooking?"

There was the creak of floorboards behind her. A dark shadow shifted in the foyer, my height, cloaked in shadows. Brook stepped aside to let it through.

My grandmother stepped into the snow, letting the light reveal her. "Lasagna," she answered my question. Behind me, Nico froze. The air was so taught around him, I could've cut it with a knife. I could almost feel his urge to retreat for myself.

Granny offered him a smile. "Hello, Nico. Do you have plans tonight?" Like they were old friends.

I shifted nervously now. She was my grandmother. She'd welcomed us with open arms. But I years and years apart had created a rift I wasn't sure how to cross.

She, on the contrary, seemed to have it all figured out.

"Nothing much, ma'am," Nico said politely. I turned and caught him glancing around, looking for the nearest shadow. He found it in the tarp of the snow blower and edged towards it. "I travel tomorrow and will be busy all week. Father and I were going to organize a few things tonight. I'll be back by Friday, though, for the next training session…"

"Oh, good! So you're free for a few more hours?"

"No, ma'am," Nico lied swiftly. "I have to get back to Father."

"Have you eaten?"

"…No, not yet…"

"Then come inside and eat with us!"

I stiffened, staring in shock. Brook dug her nails into the doorframe.

"No thanks, ma'am, I don't want to be of trouble…"

"Oh, psh! You won't be. You can't eat in the Underworld, anyway." She waved her serving spatula at him. "Now come inside before I have Hunter drag you in."

The threat of Hunter's involvement made him stop his stealth escape and stare at her blankly. His jaw dropped. "…Uh…"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, turned around, and waltzed back through the door. "Well, come on, then! It's getting cold! And try not to get snow all over the floor, please; I just mopped."

oOo

I stared at my lasagna plate, then at the clock. An awkward silence hung in the dining room's harsh yellow light, making the pasta look rather unappetizing. The smell of sauce and noodles and cheese was suffocating. The expensive mahogany table – my grandparent's pride and joy, this lovely piece of furniture – was stony and cold. Blank walls, lit here and there by pictures I dared not look at, seemed to strain away from us and the tension. Linoleum floor was hard and indifferent beneath my feet, and the chair had turned to a brace securing me to that dreaded table and the people around it.

My gaze found Brook, who was eating happily, eager to ignore the rest of us.

I sighed, turning to my left, knowing that even if my right side wasn't vacant it wouldn't hold any conversation. But Hunter's seat was currently empty. She was usually late.

At the head of the table sat my grandfather. He was cutting up his lasagna absently, waiting for someone to say something, though by the look in his blind eyes, he wouldn't wait for long. He was a well-fed man with a salt-and-pepper beard, hair to match, and smelled slightly of tobacco smoke. He had himself composed for the sake of our visitor. I didn't like seeing him a mask of a facial expression – it was strange and unsettling, even though I'd only known him for a few short months.

On his other side was where Brook sat. She had taken a liking to him in those unnaturally calm weeks. She said it was because he reminded her of her father. We also knew, but never, under any circumstances voiced the other reason; he reminded her of someone else as well. Her soft brown curls were dulled in this light, but the spark in her silver eye was untouched.

Nico sat next to her. He didn't loathe her, but had distaste for people in general, clearly demonstrated across his features. He would push his food around his plate, then meet my grandmother's eye, and quickly scarf up a few bites to be polite. Oh, I'm sure the food tasted fine, but he didn't seem to have an appetite. His gaze was kept, very strictly, away from me.

Granny was across from Grandpa and between the two of us. Her cinnamon hair was sprinkled with sugar, indicating the age that was hidden nearly everywhere else. Her hazel eyes had crinkles at their corners, indicating many smiles. Nowadays, she smiled at us, at Grandpa, and when she wanted to fool someone with a display of her teeth. Nothing else inclined her to smile, really, not a joke on TV or something stupid the dogs did. A funny book, maybe. She was neither thin nor big, tall nor short. She smelled of… I don't know, something. I wasn't sure if it was perfume or just her. I had learned to recognize the scent. She was warm and kind to us, shared our sharp tongue, and totally fit the image of 'grandmother'. Save the small moments of awkwardness.

She caught me looking and glared. I shrugged and blew my bangs out of my face. She knew us well despite all those years apart; she knew what made us uncomfortable, and never before had she dared be so bold and cross a social boundary like this. Nico was not welcome in our house. She knew very well this would happen. Why on earth had she invited him in?

I glanced to my right, ready to ask what to make of Nico's presence here, and by reflex turned away before I consciously even noted the empty space there.

My glance to the left, however, brought the door into view. A smile broke across my face.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late!" Hunter said as she strode in. Her long caramel hair was bleached to a dull, bleak brownish in the combined light of the room and the dying sunlight through the window. She acted as if Nico were not there. Of course she did; nobody could break the ice like Hunter could. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Brook answered, a smile playing on her lips.

Hunter smiled at her, then winked at me. Granny set her fork down and frowned at her. "Where have you been, young lady?"

"I was practicing magic in my room," she answered simply. "Seeing how long I can hold stuff in time. I'm up to seven hours now." She busied herself with fixing a heaping plate of pasta.

"That's pretty long," our grandfather said. Nico tensed at his voice. Blank eyes raised to stare in Hunter's general direction. "What were you holding?"

"That old bowling ball you gave me," she answered. "It has a lot of momentum. Good for exercising." A smile split her face as she turned, mischief glinting in her golden eyes, as she held her plate over Nico's head. She slowly began to tip it.

Nico noticed me watching without meeting my gaze and craned his neck to stare at her. "Hello, Hunter."

"Death Breath," she greeted him. She pulled her plate back to herself. Of course; Hunter would never waste a heap full of food. "Did Granny force you in here?"

Nico saw my grandmother's glare and, wisely, did not answer.

Hunter snorted and took her place to my left. "Well, glad you're here. The dogs are starting to brave Bree's presence and come around our feet poking for scraps. But they're still scared of you." She offered him a wide, gleaming smile.

Nico gave her a blank, lost stare.

"Just say thanks," Brook advised him.

"…Thanks…" he said, and turned back to his lasagna.

"So, what's the latest news?" Granny asked us, eager to start a conversation now that Hunter had broken our silence.

"I already gave mine," Hunter said. "I'm entitled to stuff my face now."

"You're entitled to eat with your manners," Granny corrected. "Anyone else?"

Brook raised her fingers off her fork, gathering our attention. She swallowed the pasta in her mouth and said, "Moon and I went hunting for squirrels."

Hunter frowned. "Is that legal?"

"For a wolf? Yes," Brook answered.

Nico frowned at his plate, confused.

"Moon is her wolf," I said. He hated me, I knew. And he'd sooner kill me than Hunter or Brook. But he was more familiar with me as well, and hate was a ground well-known. I could read that much. He would take the explanation from me. "She showed up one day and followed her around. A couple others have followed since then. She's got a full pack of six now."

"Do you want to meet them?" Brook asked, perking up.

"No," Granny said. "No wolves when we're at the table."

Brook deflated and stabbed her lasagna, muttering about how wolves made better company than a particular male sitting at our table. Being a daughter of Artemis, she didn't like Nico that much, either.

I glanced at my half-brother. News, at least, we were used to sharing. It was part of our uneasy truce. His hate had faded slowly; first he would glare at me all day while we trained, and not speak a word. Then he'd talk curtly about what the subject at hand. Then his tone would grow easier. And then he'd answer a few questions when I asked. And the latest development; a report on recent events in the Underworld. He excused it as part of my training. I had to learn of Hades, yet could not go there, so he 'taught' me the best he could.

His gaze swept over me and to the wall. He hadn't really spoken to the others much. But he gave us his news. "Minos escaped the Underworld. Medea a couple days ago. And another – unidentified, currently – just this morning. Father's still searching for how they got out."

There was the conversation starter Granny was looking for. Hunter frowned and, through a full mouth, said, "Seriously? What do you mean, escaped?"

"I mean they got out and are alive again somewhere, hiding out in America. We suspect they had outside help. Who helped them, why, and how is still unknown." He shrugged and stabbed at his half-empty plate again.

"Does this happen often?" Grandpa asked, looking a little concerned.

"No prison is airtight. We've rarely had people run on this scale, but it's happened before. We're working on it. They'll all be dead again soon." Black eyes burned holes in his pasta.

"Do 'yall need help?" Granny asked.

Nico growled stiffly. "No, ma'am."

She sighed and closed her eyes, fiddling with her fork. "Well, let us know if you do."

"Pluto has a restraining order against me," I reminded her. "And on Hunter. We couldn't help even if we wanted to."

"It's a small thing, really," Nico told her. "We have it under control. We don't need help. In fact, it's feeling more like a practice drill. It's nothing to worry about." He laid his fork down and continued to stare at his plate. I wondered what was so fascinating about it. I spared a small glance at my own, but it looked ordinary.

"Bree," Granny said. "Get your elbows off the table."

I did, drawing my arms in on myself and glancing at the clock again. "Nico, it's already seven. Don't you have to go?"

"I do," he said hastily, getting to his feet. "Father's probably wondering where I am. Great lasagna, Mrs. A-"

Granny flicked her hand in dismissal. "Call me Granny, please."

"Er… Great lasagna, Granny," he amended. "Thanks for the meal."

He turned, standing in the shadow of his chair. As now customary to his leave, before he faded into the shadows, one last glance was cast over his shoulder. I did what I did every time; I froze, staring back. I don't know what enticed him to look each time, or why he hated me so much when he left. But he looked at me like I'd just intentionally killed his family.

Then the shadows twisted again, and he vanished.

Hunter threw her arms wide. "At last! Really, Bree, you should've put the poor thing out of its misery much sooner. He was suffering."

Granny glared at us. "That was rude. Sending him away."

"He wanted to go. You know that," Hunter muttered. "You knew nobody wanted him here, either. He didn't want to stay."

"It was still the polite thing to do. He's a child, just Bree's age, and didn't have the chance to eat dinner tonight. So I gave him that chance. I wasn't going to let him starve," Granny sniffed as she stood with her empty plate. "You should know better and look past what you see."

"Past what I see?" I muttered. "I see a mysterious kid with a shady past and alliances to people who hate us. I wouldn't invite that into my home."

Hunter stood and stretched. The bones in her back popped. "He doesn't spend his time on Camp Half-Blood, at least. He's been rejected by Olympus, too, until the laws were made. And even now, he's closest to Hades."

"Who also hates us."

"Who wants you three alive," Granny corrected. "That's something."

I snorted. "Please. I teach him my powers, and he rambles on about random crap. He's only here to suck up information."

"He isn't here now," Brook pointed out as she washed her own plate. I glanced at mine. It was still half-full.

"Thank the gods," Hunter laughed. "I was beginning to wonder if we could use garlic powder in his plate." The idea made me chuckle. My sisters have that effect on me.

Granny scowled at us, glaring, before breaking down into a smile. "You guys are crazy. That would have been rude, too."

"Yeah, but it'd have been funny," Hunter said. Granny didn't protest. "Who wants to go play Scenario upstairs?"

"Me!" Brook and I both yelped, jumping up and down. I caught her eye and smiled. Her wide silver eyes gleamed at me.

I finished my food and washed the plate quickly, Hunter and Brook giggling about something while they waited. I let the clean plate clatter to its place in the cabinet and, together, we raced for the stairs.

"Hey!" Granny called after us. "No running in the house! And don't stay up past nine!"

oOo

Nyx: I did not procrastinate. I swear.

Nic: You were supposed to send this to me last night.

Nyx: I wrote like fifteen versions of it last night and they all smelled worse than the litter box, so I didn't keep them! I had to finish this at like six in the morning! I'm sorry! Seriously, all freaking week I've been writing and writing different versions of this, but struggled to get it right. I've also had to go back and, as I said, make some final plotline edits and set a few ideas straight. But, we are now thoroughly underway!

Nic: WE ARE BACK! AT LAST!

Nyx: Okay, so our next update will be on Monday, unless I get a lot written and decide to post before then. (This is very probable.) In the meantime, please review! Tell us what you think! Talk as a writer or a reader; we will read and thoroughly consider every review, no matter what it says! What are you excited for? What do you suspect will happen? What has surprised you? Did my imagery flop? Tell us, please! And thanks to those who have already reviewed! You were so nice.

Nic: Our current poll will stay up for a while more. It is on the most likely things to happen in HoH. It allows you to pick three of like twenty things on there. It's been having great results so far! Our next poll, however…

Nyx: Anybody else seen HoH's cover yet? HOLY STYX. I went into hysterics when I saw that the DOORS are freaking CLOSED in the picture…. Though I'm not sure it means anything…

Nic: Our next poll will have to do with HoH's cover. It can be found on Riordan's site. Whoever does those covers has freaking TALENT.

Nyx: Agreed. Please review! We'll see you all very soon!

Nic: One, two, three…

Nyx: ?

Nic: I'm counting the empty Altoids cans on your desk. Six. And you throw away most of them. You have a problem.

Nyx: You got anything else you'd like to announce?

Nic: Yes. The world is planning to set a human colony on Mars. That is all. :3

Nyx: …

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