TEN - NYX
I'll have you know: when I accepted my role as a demigod at Camp Half-Blood, it was not to end up babysitting. Yet, here I was, playing house with yet another one of Father's illegal children. Persephone had just dumped him with me and left.
She hadn't even told me which of Father the child is descended from.
And apparently he couldn't be bothered to tell me either.
I'm in the common room, sitting on one of the couches, while the runt sits on the floor, playing with my magic Stygian stone. The kid is maybe three years old. His hair is short and blond and he has heterochromatic eyes: one iris is red and orange, like fire, and the other is obsidian black. He sticks the stone in his mouth and chews on it.
"I don't even know your name," I say.
He turns his mismatched eyes on me. After a couple blinks, he holds the slobbery stone out to me. "Ba mhaith leat?" he says.
"Yeah. Didn't think so," I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "What has my life come to?" I mutter. "And of course, the others are nowhere to be found."
Not a second later, there's a faint fluttering sound behind me. My head snaps up and I turn around. "Speak of the devil," I breathe.
"No," Jez smiles. "But close enough. Where'd you go, Nyx? What's–"
"Éan deas!" the little kid suddenly jumps up and runs over to Jez.
"Chto yebut, Nyx!?" she shrieks in Russian. "Why is there a child here!?"
"It's, uh…" I rub the back of my neck. "Well…say hello to our little brother."
"You're kidding," she says, taking a step away from the boy, who continues to cling to her dress, his tiny, pudgy arm waving in the air towards her.
Hazel, of course, is the first one to warm up to the kid. She bends down to him. "What's his name?" she asks me.
"I don't know. Persephone just handed him over and disappeared. Said he was Dad's."
"Which…" Jez says slowly. "Is he…yours?"
I shrug. "She didn't tell me which one of us he's related to. I guess she gave him to me 'cause I was the only one she could kidnap. That, and she hates me."
Hazel picks the child up and sets him on her hip. "What are we supposed to do with him?" she asks. He continues to stare and reach for Jez.
"Éan deas," he repeats, a little more forcefully, swinging his arm in her direction. Suddenly, he makes a fist, and Jez jumps.
"What the–?" she turns and looks at him. His hand continues to hover by her shoulder. She looks from the child's face to his fist. "Holy hell weasel," she whispers. He smiles.
"Jez?" Hazel and I look at her in confusion. "What's wrong?" I ask.
Her eyes never leave the boy's face. Her voice shakes. "He can see them. He can see my wings."