III.
Somehow, Percy knows people before he knows them.
It is in the face of Papa, who Percy had instinctively wanted to call Hades from the moment he opened his eyes, the soul he used to be when Percy was a Jackson and not a López. It is curious. His Papa is not much like the God of the Underworld was the last time he had seen him. Hades had been a bitter immortal, weathered and broken by the losses of his mortal lover and his half-blood daughter. Nico had helped but he was a boy growing and could not be tethered to his father. The god had never seemed happy, smirking sardonically, chuckling bitterly, something warped and broken within him. Hades was great, but he was not necessarily whole. He had been hurt by his siblings, scorned by his wife and alone for most of an infinite eternity.
But Papa, Adrian López is not like that. He has a handsome face and Spanish features, his springy cropped afro showing a few of his more African roots. He is a fix-it man, less of a schemer and more of a do-er. He loves cars and motors, his job, with a passion and usually has black grease smeared on his shirt or face, a faint smell of petrol clinging to him always. He is a little gruff, more likely to shout if Percy got into trouble, but he is kind too and is, Percy hopes, content with his life.
Percy has no idea how reincarnation, for that is surely what this is, works.
How can an immortal god who can never die be reborn? If this is reincarnation why does he remember everything? If the Isle of Blessed is responsible, why does he not remember three lives instead of one?
Papa and Percy are not the only ones whose souls came back.
Three weeks into the summer holidays, an Asian lady moves in across the street into one of the flats above the grocer's shop. She keeps her hair up in a high pony tail of sleek black and wakes up every morning to jog for an hour before returning. Daddy attempts to bake some brownies, following some recipe online that he saw on the telly, but they end up hard as bricks and black as the lady's hair, so he bins them and nips out to the bakery on the next street to bring back a box of cupcakes. Percy sneaks a blue one and helps Daddy pack the rest into a Tupperware box from home so it 'looks like we made them'.
He's pretty sure the lady won't fall for it.
But they head across anyways, Daddy holding his hand as they cross the road. Percy scowls and says over and over that he's 'six already!' but Daddy chuckles and doesn't let go. They ring her doorbell, Percy's not sure how Daddy knows which one it is but somehow he does, and she hesitantly buzzes them in. Daddy has a twinkle in his blue eyes that he always gets when he's planning to play a prank – Percy would know since his Papa always says that's how he knows when Percy is playing pranks. They traipse up the step and Daddy let's Percy knock on the door.
Percy makes sure he's rapping the rhythm to Papa's favourite Billy Joel song, the one Daddy hates, when he does and Daddy narrows his eyes to playfully glare at him.
He's giggling when the door opens.
The Asian, most likely Chinese, lady looks at them in surprise, wearing a blue t-shirt and black jeans. She is quite pretty, and not nearly as old as he thought she was, her long black hair swept up in a haphazard bun, no makeup but clear skinned. There is a pen trapped behind her ear, a smudge of ink on her chin, but what catches his eye is the silvery birthmark on her collarbone, paler than a burn on her olive skin. There is a similar one on the sole of his left foot.
"Hullo," Daddy says, stretching his hand out to shake hers, "I'm David López, from twenty-seven A across the road," He greets, smiling brightly.
"Er…thanks," She says haltingly, as he pushes the box of cupcakes into her hand. "Erm…I don't mean to sound rude but…"
Daddy laughs, "My husband and I saw your ad in the Post Office, and we weren't sure how long it might take for you to get booked up so I thought we'd bribe our way in."
"Oh," she flushes. "I have a full CV here if you want it…and I'm studying Engineering at the university so…"
Percy decides he's fed up of being ignored. "I'm Percy," He chirps, and her eyes fall to him. "Who're you?" He asks rudely, even though he's pretty certain he knows already.
"Phoenix," Daddy scolds, ignoring his indignant cry of 'Percy!', "Papa and I wanted to get you a summer tutor, her name is –"
"Annabeth Tang," She smiles warmly at him and the silver mark on his foot feels like its burning from carrying the world, "It's lovely to meet you, Phoenix."
Looking at her, he knows she remembers nothing about being Annabeth Chase. She looks at him as a little boy, one whom she does not know but doesn't mind. She likes children, its clear from her face, but she doesn't look like she'd want to be a mother anytime soon. He gazes past her into the flat, spotting little piles of loose paper, scribbled over with equations and diagrams and highlighter of different colours, and notes that it's not too different from his Annabeth, who drew buildings instead of physics equations and worked on building blueprints instead of airplanes. Annabeth Jackson who was a formidable woman even in her eighties and had still been as beautiful as she was at twelve years old in the back of a truck amongst the zoo animals, the best wife and an ever better best friend.
He scowls at her, but feels like laughing, breathless and hysterically giddy. "It's Percy, Wisegirl."
The corner of almond eyes crinkle, and Annabeth Tang laughs indulgently
but doesn't remember.