-Will-

By the time Nico got back from his shopping spree, Percy and Leo were long gone, and Hazel and I were lounging on the couch as the kids played on the living room floor. Chloe had no shortage of smiles for Dante, and he seemed to be enjoying himself too, assembling haphazard towers of colored blocks for her to knock down in the cutest reenactment of Godzilla. At first, the seven-year-old had seemed confused by the toddler, like he'd never seen someone so tiny and clumsy. But he'd warmed up to her after her mother had set her down and she'd waddled over to give him an unprompted hug.

If any Underworldly auras were contributing to the amicable atmosphere, I had no way of telling. Dante did seem to trust Hazel, but there were too many variables for me to determine why. First of all, I'd introduced her as Nico's sister, so she had that going for her. Second, she's not a very threatening-looking person, since she's five months pregnant and almost a foot shorter than me. Plus, she's one of the kindest people I know. She's basically a cupcake in human form.

Case in point, I'd realized that Hazel wasn't the best person to test Nico's theory, and neither was her two-year-old daughter. But it's not like there's an abundance of Underworldly demigods wandering around New Rome. I was glad that she'd decided to drop by, though. I always enjoy my sister-in-law's company, and seeing Dante bonding with Chloe was definitely a bonus.

When Nico opened the door (none too gracefully, thanks to all the bags he was carrying), he paused to take in the scene. His sister beamed and waved at him, but before she could say anything, Chloe yelled her two favorite words out of the forty-some that she knew:

"Unca Neekee!"

Nico cracked a smile as his niece abandoned her blocks and ran to him as fast as her little legs could carry her. He dropped everything he was holding so he could sweep her into his arms. My heart almost burst from the adorableness - especially when Nico responded in his most adoring voice: "Well, hello, tesoro! Have you been keeping an eye on Uncle Will for me?"

"Yep!" Chloe told him proudly.

"Was he being good?"

The toddler considered me for a second. Then she shook her head solemnly.

"No?" Nico checked, laughing.

"Bad," she confirmed, shaking her head with more vigor.

"Chloe," Hazel chided, but her smile didn't drive the point home.

Nico reacted like I'd been convicted for murder. "What did you do?"

I clutched at my chest like his question had stabbed me. "I was perfectly behaved!"

My theatrical response got a giggle out of her. Then Nico gave her a kiss on the nose, which resulted in more happy noises. Beaming, I marveled at the two of them.

At around three months old, Chloe had started begging to be held by Nico whenever she saw him. That had surprised Nico as much as the rest of us, since he looks nothing like either of her parents, and he'd been clueless with babies at the time. I think that's when he'd come up with the theory about auras.

Personally, I think it has more to do with kids being good judges of character. By appearances, Nico doesn't come off as the friendliest person. He never grew out of his preference for dark clothes, his expression usually rests on careful and calculating, and his wavy black hair seems to have a mind of its own no matter how short he cuts it. His good looks, athletic physique, and fearsome powers don't make him any less intimidating. But underneath all that, my Lord of Darkness is a total sap - and he's always treated his niece like the most precious thing in the world. She has no reason not to love him.

Nowadays, whenever they're in the same room, Chloe stays glued to him until she's satisfied that she's had enough attention from him - which usually takes about three hours, give or take. But that doesn't bother Nico - quite the contrary. Her unbridled affection seems to flip a switch in him, transforming him from the textbook introvert into a fun-loving and doting uncle. I never get tired of watching The Chloe and Nico Show (as Hazel and I called it). I was just curious to see how the next addition to the family would play into it.

As I hopped up to help with the bags, my husband toted his niece into the living room, where Dante was still sitting on the floor. The two shared a smile as Nico ruffled his feathery black hair. "I see you've met my younger sister," he mentioned, nodding at Hazel.

The daughter of Pluto smirked. By calendar dates alone, Hazel is the older one, since she was born a month earlier - in 1928. But Nico reasons that he's been alive for longer, despite Hazel's insistence that his experience in the Lotus Hotel was hardly different than her years spent as a ghost. "I'm technically in my nineties," Nico would point out, to which Hazel usually said something to the effect of, "Sure you are, Grandpa." But she didn't take his bait this time.

"Do you want to check out the clothes I got you?" Nico continued, and Dante's eyes lit up. As we moved the new stuff to Dante's room, I ran through this morning's events with my husband. Then we left Dante alone to change into the outfit he'd picked out.

"So," Hazel said as we rejoined her in the living room. She glanced back and forth between us, wearing a tentative smile. "Congratulations, you two."

"Thanks," I replied, beaming as my heart performed a few somersaults.

"It just kind of happened," Nico tacked on wryly, with a smile that assured me he was glad that it did. His expression soured as he murmured, "The Praetors still have to decide what to do with him, but Celia said he'd probably be allowed to stay with us until he's ten. Then he can choose to join the legion or not."

"Well, I'm sure it'll all work out," Hazel told him, lowering her volume to match his. "He seems like a sweet kid."

As she spoke, Chloe leaned her head against Nico's shoulder and made eye contact with me. The toddler looked a lot like her mom, with her coffee bean complexion and bushy cinnamon hair, but she had Frank's brown eyes. The thought reminded me of a question I'd been meaning to ask the daughter of Pluto: "Does he remind you of anyone?"

Hazel furrowed her brows. "You're trying to figure out who his parents are?" I nodded, and she continued slowly, "He does seem familiar, but I can't figure out why."

"His eyes are a lot like yours," Nico brought up, taking the words out of my mouth.

"You think he's our brother?"

"You tell me."

Hazel shook her head slowly. "Every time I've met Pluto, his eyes are as black as night."

"Same with Hades," Nico admitted.

"The thing is, my mother had dark eyes too," Hazel went on, looking uneasy. "I always thought my eyes were like this because of my curse - the deal my mother made with Dad to make her rich. But that couldn't be the same case with Dante, right? Have you found any precious stones lying around?"

As I shook my head, Nico mumbled, "Not yet, at least."

"Gods take different physical appearances sometimes," I mentioned. "Maybe Pluto just felt like having gold eyes that day."

"Or they could be from his mortal parent," Nico reasoned. "It'd be rare for a regular person to have eyes that color, but I'm sure it's possible."

"Have you tried asking him?" Hazel suggested.

The cynical part of me doubted we'd get very far with that method.

Before we could say anything else, the bedroom door opened and the subject of our conversation stepped out. A pair of blue jeans hugged his thin frame much less awkwardly than Nico's old sweatpants (which had only stayed on him thanks to the drawstring around the waist). For some reason, he'd kept the Ramones t-shirt, opting to tuck it in so it didn't look so huge. He'd also chosen patterned socks that had tiny songbirds stitched into them - one of Nico's more adventurous purchases.

"Bird," Chloe announced, pointing at his socks.

"Yes, honey. Good job," Hazel encouraged her.

"Is that better?" Nico asked, and Dante nodded. "I thought you were going to try the blue shirt?"

The seven-year-old pondered his oversized black t-shirt, with half of its faded graphic bunched into his jeans. Then, to everyone's shock, he strung together a whole sentence in his defense: "I like this one."

Nico recovered the quickest. "It's all yours."

Dante's smile put a lid on my cynicism. Maybe he wasn't so opposed to talking after all.

Two hours later, I was alone with Dante again. (Nico had left for the Coliseum, and Hazel had decided to head out at the same time as him, probably to ease Chloe into the transition.) But this time around, I was feeling much more comfortable - and I think Dante was too. I even got the nerve to ask him if I could take a look at his bandages. He'd seemed wary at first, but once I went through my I'm-a-doctor-who-glows routine, he was more than happy to let me sit on the floor with him and hold his hand.

My diagnostic sensors told me he was relatively healthy, apart from being underweight and having a lower than average body temperature. (No surprises there.) Along with some common scrapes and bruises, he had four matching punctures on each of his shoulders, like a harpy had tried to carry him off. Thankfully, those were already scabbed over and healing fine. But I was a little worried about the fresh set of claw marks trailing from his lower ribs to his right hip. One of the Hellhounds must have dealt him a glancing blow before Nico and Percy had intervened.

Although Nico had cleaned and wrapped the scratches properly, the skin around them was irritated and raised, and the blood on the bandages indicated that they weren't scabbing as well as they should've been. I suddenly suspected that Dante had another reason for not changing into a shirt that fit him better.

"Wasn't this bothering you?" I asked him, shocked that he kept quiet about it for so long. The seven-year-old shrugged and avoided my eyes. That reminded me so much of Nico that I almost scolded him. Instead, I wrangled my emotions and continued calmly, "Is it okay if touch you again?" He hesitated, and I clarified, "I'm not going to touch the scratches, just somewhere near them."

Dante nodded once, and I carefully rested my fingertips against his side, just above the highest claw mark. Then I closed my eyes and focused. The wounds seemed to pulse like a vicious, unwelcome presence; I could sense the beginnings of an infection. A familiar buzzing sensation filled me, responding to the need. It felt kind of like I'd swallowed a bee, if that bee was really annoyed and covered in lava. I tapped into the feeling and directed it into my patient's skin, and the warm magic trickled out through my fingertips.

Although I had my eyes closed, I've done this enough to know what my patient was seeing and feeling. As the warmth seeped in, the pain vanished. Then the jagged red cuts faded too. In a matter of seconds, the muscle and flesh mended themselves, from the deepest layer up to the surface.

When I opened my eyes, Dante's expression turned that angry bee into a swarm of butterflies. His gold eyes were as round as coins as he gaped at me. (I assumed this was the same reverent look he'd given Nico when he'd chased away those Hellhounds.) Embarrassed but pleased, I smiled and wiped away the dried blood, leaving no indication that any wound had ever been there.

"There. Next time something's hurting you, just let me know. Okay?"

I'd expected him to nod or shrug. I hadn't expected him to lurch forward and throw his arms around me.

That heartfelt reaction made me feel like I'd been wrapped in a blanket that had been drying in the hot sun. Stunned into contentedness, I hugged him back. He stiffened a little at my touch, but I barely noticed. I was too distracted by the way he was clinging to the back of my shirt, like he was afraid someone would rip him away and tell him that I was only in his imagination. Or maybe he was just that grateful.

The thoughts squeezed my heart so hard that I felt short of breath. I considered myself to be a pretty empathetic person, but I didn't usually feel this deeply for someone I'd only known for a few hours. But I guess Dante wasn't just anybody. He was an innocent seven-year-old kid who, if his penchant for silence was any indication, had probably been through more frightening and traumatic experiences than most adults experience in their whole lives. And actually, Dante was more than that. Nico and I had taken on the responsibility to keep him happy, healthy, and safe. As far as I was concerned, that made him our kid.

Unable to find words, I swallowed my emotions and held him closer, wishing I could heal his inner wounds as easily as the surface ones.

Sooner than I'd hoped, Dante drew a shaky breath and pushed himself away. He put on a stubborn scowl as he wiped his eyes on his arm. It almost seemed like he was angry with himself for being vulnerable. He clearly wasn't ready to open up yet - and how could I expect him to be? He'd probably been living alone for years, and he'd just met me this morning. Hell, he still hadn't said a single word to me personally.

One thing at a time.

I repeated that mantra in my head, but the desire to learn more about him only intensified. I really wanted to help Dante work through this, but I couldn't do that if I didn't know what the problem was. A few yes or no questions couldn't hurt, I reasoned with myself. Still sitting on the floor with him, I adopted my gentlest tone and led with the first thing I was thinking: "You're a brave kid."

When Dante's gold eyes locked on mine, the sorrow they held made him look much older than seven. Bracing for him to give me the cold shoulder, I pushed on.

"Were you on your own for a while?"

He looked away and shrugged, which didn't seem like a straight no. As I tried to dissect that answer, I remembered something Nico had mentioned.

"Lupa took care of you?"

Dante nodded, and his eyes grew distant. I wondered if he missed being a part of the wolf pack. In any case, he didn't seem to mind this line of questioning, so I kept going.

"For how long?"

He held up four fingers.

"Four months?"

He shook his head and touched his hand to his chest.

"Since you were four?"

Another nod confirmed my guess. That was definitely unusual, but I supposed Jason went through something similar after his mother had surrendered him.

"What about before that? Who was looking after you then?"

Dante's gaze snapped from wistful to guarded. Apparently, I'd hit a sore spot.

"It's okay," I conceded. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I just want to know more about you." When he didn't offer a response, I suggested, "I could tell you about my parents."

The seven-year-old considered me for a few seconds, like he was wondering if I was playing a trick on him. At last, he nodded.

I started talking about my father: his unique personality, his laundry list of powers and which of them I'd inherited, how I'd first seen him when he'd crashed a flaming school bus into a lake, and how I'd grown closer to him than I ever thought I would through his experience being mortal. Then I described my mother, with her voice like a lullaby, her caring nature, and her free spirit. I told him how I used to go on tour with her when I wasn't staying with my grandparents in Texas. I tried to keep the wistfulness out of my voice as I explained how she'd reached minor fame in the alt-country genre - and how she isn't the best at staying in one place or remembering to visit family. But she still makes time to call me every week, to ask me how life is going and tell me about her latest adventures.

By the time I'd wrapped up my story, Dante's wariness had melted away. He seemed so content and peaceful that I was reluctant to steer the conversation back to him. But that was before something concerning occurred to me. "What about your family? Is there anyone we should call, to let them know that you're okay?"

A shadow fell over his face, and he shook his head.

"No one's wondering where you are?"

Without hesitation, he shook his head again. I got the feeling that his running away was a result of something much worse than a falling out with his folks. Ignoring the ache in my chest, I continued gingerly:

"Could you tell me your parents' names, or your last name? You could write it down, if that helps."

Dante furrowed his brows as I grabbed some sticky notes and a pen from the coffee table. I held them out to him, but he just shook his head. A little late, I realized that if he'd been staying with Lupa since he was four, he probably didn't know how to write. Traditional education was not the mother wolf's strong suit.

"Oh. That's okay. We'll work on that later."

I pursed my lips and frowned at the mantle without really seeing it, trying to figure out how to phrase all this through yes or no questions. I doubted he wanted to go through a lengthy game of charades, and I didn't want him to get aggravated with me or become reclusive.

Just as I was about to give up and change the subject, I noticed that Dante was following my eyes. Then he got up, walked over to the fireplace, and picked up a standing frame from the mantle. Silently, he brought it to me. The picture was one of my favorites: a candid of Nico and I from our last summer at Camp Half-Blood. We were sitting on the dock and grinning as we jokingly tried to push each other into the lake. (Valentina had taken the shot in secret; I swear, Aphrodite kids have a sixth sense for spying on romantic moments.)

Puzzled by the gesture, I scanned Dante's expression. His eyes didn't leave mine. He was clearly trying to make a point. My heart jumped out of rhythm as I decoded it.

"We remind you of your family?"

His little nod melted my heart. I tried to get a grip on my emotions as he pressed a finger against the image of Nico.

"Nico especially?"

He nodded again.

"Does he remind you of your dad?"

That was another yes.

"Is your dad's name Hades or Pluto?"

When recognition flashed in Dante's eyes, I thought I'd gotten it right. But he shook his head.

"Neither of those?"

He repeated the same gesture.

"But you've heard of those names?"

He nodded once. I wondered if Lupa had told him about the gods. I supposed his father could be a different Underworldy god. Or maybe the God of the Dead had used an alias.

"Okay. What about your mother?"

Dante suddenly stiffened. I could see the walls coming up behind those mournful eyes. After a long moment, he shook his head in one tiny motion. Judging by his reaction to the word 'mother', I figured he wasn't like my sister Kayla (who was created by our bisexual dad and raised by her mortal father) or like Athena's kids (who spawned from thoughts alone). Dante had definitely had a mother, at some point. But it didn't seem like she was around anymore.

"Did something happen to her?"

The quiet words fell out of my mouth before I could catch myself. Dante's reaction drove a stake through my heart. A mix of fear and grief filled his face, and he went completely rigid, like his emotions were curling into a protective ball. Then his expression turned disturbingly blank, and he stopped looking at me. Somehow, the silence felt thicker now, like the air around us was frozen solid.

I had a sinking feeling that his mother had something to do with his mutism.

Desperate to correct my mistake, I impulsively reached for him. He flinched like the contact startled him, but by some miracle, he didn't pull his hand away. I took a deep breath and gently gripped his fingers. "It's okay. We're not gonna talk about that anymore - not until you're ready. And that could be tomorrow, or twenty years from now, or never, and that's okay too."

Tentatively, Dante met my eyes again. I tried to let my honesty show in my face. I guess it worked, because his racing heart started to slow. I think I felt just as relieved as him.

"Thank you for telling me all that," I went on, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. "You've been really strong."

Dante didn't seem to know how to handle my praise. He directed his uneasy frown at the picture frame in my hand, and I mustered a smile. "Nico and I are going to take good care of you," I assured him. He nodded again, unable to look at me. I wasn't sure how to gauge that look on his face. Suddenly, a longing burned deep in my chest. I didn't want to bug him with any more questions, but there was something I needed to know. So I took a deep breath and summoned the most even tone I could manage, and I asked him:

"Do you want us to be your new family?"

Blinking like he was stunned, the seven-year-old drank me in. Something twisted inside me as his golden eyes brimmed with tears. He seemed too overwhelmed to react. I was about to tell him that he could take some time to think about it, but before I could, he gave me the best answer I could've asked for - a single word.

"Yes."