I was tired of Los Angeles.

Gods knew how I ended up here. Last thing I knew, I was at Camp Half-Blood after the war, with Will at my side and the promise of something. Turns out I couldn't handle a relationship at 15. So I moved to Boston at 18, then Seattle at 19; In LA, I was 21. Just old enough to buy beer for the dead.

"You got an ID?" the cashier, a middle aged woman with a perm, asked. "You don't look 21."

I brought out my ID. It wasn't real, so the whole legal age thing didn't really matter. The mist would help Cherrie see that I was 24, originally from Las Vegas, DOB January 28. Same day as the Challenger Explosion in 1986. I really tried my hardest to not be dramatic about the whole death thing, but it was so damn hard when my life kept going that way.

"I see, Nicholas." Cherrie smiled at me. "That'll be $50."

I fished out $50 in cash, smarting at her assuming my full name. It literally said, right there on the ID-

In my head, I pulled back, letting out a breath. It's fine. You're already a brooding 24 year-old buying 4 6-packs of beer. You don't need to look worse.

Cherrie was not the first to try to push an incorrect full name on me. Whether it was Nicholas, Nicola, or Dominic, people always did it, usually older people who couldn't stand that I didn't fit their views of what a young man should look like. To them, my name was just the icing on the cake. How dare I have a nickname as a full name too! Gah, what's next? I'm grunge-y? I'm gay?

Honestly, I make it seem like I'm some miserable drifter, but I'm not. I'm doing a lot better than I was during the war. And the second war. I don't wear just black, I wash and comb my hair, I even call Will and talk to him for hours on end. He was eager to stay friends after we broke up, though I felt bad when I'd already been such a burden on him. I was glad his patients now 1. Listened to what he told them and 2. Paid them.

I'd always thought that the whole death vs doctor thing was kinda cool, a good omen for our relationship, but I felt stronger desires leading me elsewhere. I'd been following them since, but I still hadn't found their end.

As I left BevMo! - the liquor store - with a shit ton of beer, the sun came down on me. I even enjoyed that, holding up a hand to block it out so I could see my way to the car. Golden hour always made me think of Will, and even though it'd be 9 pm in Missouri, where he was studying PreMed at the University of Washington in St. Louis, I decided to IM him. When I got in my car, I turned on the little humidifier I had sitting in the passenger seat, which I had taken to calling Steve. Steve was my closest thing to a car phone, and I'd come to wish he could come to life and be my boyfriend.

Will picked up after a few seconds. Luckily, he was in his apartment rather than the library.

"Hey, Nico!" he looked up from his textbook, grinning. "Thanks for calling me back."

I knew I had to look bizarre to him, basically a hologram in his desk, but he was a Star Wars fan, so I always assumed he liked it. It had been harder when he'd had a roommate in his dorm freshman year, but we hadn't talked much back then, anyway. Nowadays, Will looked better than ever. He'd grown his hair long and had it pulled back into a manbun, which was new. I frowned.

"Nice updo," I grunted.

Will smiled wider. He patted his bun. "You like it? Sorry I kinda stole your look."

He had stolen my look, but I preferred ponytails on most days anyways. My hair went further than my shoulders, longer than Will's, anyway, so my buns were better.

"What're you working on?" I asked.

"Ugh." now Will rubbed his temples. He was always moving like that. It gave me a headache. "You know. Organic chemistry. Proposing syntheses and providing major products."

I wasn't even going to ask. My eyes went to my rear-view mirror, in which I could see the piles of clothes I had in my backseat. A vintage wedding dress from the 20s, a few Champion sweatshirts I knew I could get good money out of from the VSCO girls, and a new sign that would make its debut at Silverlake Flea tomorrow It was wooden, with my stand's name burned into it - La Serenissima Vintage.

Champion sweatshirts from a few years ago were not vintage, but "La Serenissima Vintage, Three-Season-Old Shit, and A Little Fast Fashion If I Can Make Good Money off of it" was too long for the sign.

"Sounds horrifying," I said. "How did you do on that exam we talked about? I don't think you ever told me."

"The midterm?" Will shook his head. "...not great. It's exhausting. I know so much more than them, objectively, but because I don't know it in the way they know it, they don't listen to me. It's like being in math class and being able to do the problem in your head but you 'have to show your work'." He did air quotes.

I knew what he was talking about, even though I didn't want to. After... everything, I had gone to high school. I'd done it for Will, but also for Hazel, who was as bewildered as the modern world as I was - probably more, because I'd been here longer. We'd made a promise to each other to remain as year round campers, but suffer during the day through modern, co-ed public schools.

It was something I'd long pushed away as it reminded me too much of a girl who'd never get to finish her education. But after everything with Bob and Will... it had become easier. Easier for me to not think of Bianca with every step I took outside of camp - to not feel guilty. To look towards the future; to send letters to Hazel comparing new york schools to Bay Area ones.

I'd thought after that that I was on the way to healing, but somehow, I was here, and I wasn't very happy. Even with my high school degree.

Will pressed his lips together. "Did you get the letter I sent you?"

I frowned. "No. You sent me a letter?"

"Yeah - it had some information in it I thought you'd like."

I made a face, and Will immediately held up a hand defensively.

"I'm not trying to get you into college again," he said. "It's this goth festival I saw that's happening in Rome next year. I thought of you immediately. And I put some other stuff in there, too."

"You know," I said, "You could just text me like a normal person. Cabin 9 figured it out-"

Will gave me a glare. We'd had this exact discussion before, and he'd never change his mind. "I'm not touching any technology with a 10 foot pole. I don't care what any of them say."

"And when you're a doctor?"

Will sucked his teeth. "That's... different."

"Uh-huh." I shook my head. "There's aluminum in stethoscopes, Will."

He laughed. "Conspiracy theorists like aluminum. It blocks the electromagnetic waves."

Thankfully he was self-aware enough to joke. Though we'd made these jokes before, too.

"How's LA?" Will asked me. "Where are you?"

I held back the truth - that I was at BevMo!. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the other businesses on the giant marquee at the edge of the parking lot. Office Max, Sprouts Farmer Market, Shakey's Pizza. Last option was the only one that made any sense, unless I decided to go completely off the deep end and lie to Will that I was at Office Max to, I don't know, buy a stapler to reminisce about Jason. I don't think he'd like that.

"Shakey's," I said. "it's a pizza place."

"Did you just come out?"

I nodded. Truth was that I was starving, and looked forward to getting to my favorite beach to drink my beer and ignore it. I wasn't starving myself or anything, just had little money and preferred to spend it on alcohol.

Gods. I'm not doing myself any favors here with the way I'm describing my life.

"Actually," I ammended, "I came out a few years ago. You were there."

Will's eyes narrowed, but I could see he was amused in the twist of his lips.

"What'd you get on your pizza?"

"Pepperoni," I lied. "And a root beer."

"Sounds good! I'm glad you're... eating."

He'd paused because he knew he shouldn't say that, as neutral as it sounded. I decided to let it go, giving him a smile. Then, Steve let out a splutter, and I knew this wonderful conversation was coming to an end.

"Well, I should go," I said. "Is that all you wanted to ask? If I'd gotten the letter?"

"Well, if you'd gotten it, I was going to ask you how you felt about it. How do you?"

About going to a goth music festival in Rome? Honestly, it sounded cool as hell, but the last thing I wanted was to ruin my music taste by associating it with, you know, happy things. Because if I lost that - which I would, because music festivals were temporary - suddenly I wouldn't be able to listen to those songs in dark moments anymore. I'd already wasted pop punk and classic rock; goth was my last resort at this point. Even playing it while I was driving around LA, with the sun shining, felt wrong.

But I didn't tell Will this - I said, "I don't think I have the money for that."

"You don't have to have the money. Just shadow-travel in."

I snorted. "You really think it's a good idea for me to be in a crowd of people - in Rome, especially? I think that would endanger them a lot."

"One of my sisters went to a concert a couple months ago," he pointed out.

"If you're talking about AJ, she's a professional escape artist." I looked at my hands. "With my luck, I wouldn't be able to get out and the monster would cause a crowd crush trying to get to me. Unless I stood at the edges."

Will frowned. Steve once again spluttered, and he - Will, not the fucking humidifier - let out a sigh.

"All right, well." He shrugged. "Think about it."

"I will."

"I'll talk to you later, okay? Have a good rest of your night."

I told him the same, but by the time I got the last word out, Steve had died, and his remaining mist had gone up with one last pathetic cloud. I pressed my lips together, but wasn't all that upset.

I did not need to take it further than that. Not anymore. Will and I were friends, that was all. I knew better than to burden him more - and besides, I didn't even want to. If one of us were going to be the one who broke the boundary, it'd more likely be him. Which was funny, because he was the one who'd broken up with me.

I looked away from the humidifier, at the parking lot around me. Why I was still stuck in Culver City when I could hardly afford my rent, I don't know. Shit would be a lot easier if I were living in, like, Texas or something. I might even be happier - all comparisons to Will's childhood notwithstanding.

But I couldn't bring myself to leave. There was something satisfying about living in a place where I knew I was one in a million. The millionth gay guy, bad boy, vintage reseller. Where I felt the sweet dopamine of a sale on a much steadier basis than I ever could in any other city. And where, when the sun came slanting in through the windowsill, I knew it was shining on hills and ocean too, somewhere nearby. It was the opposite of the casino - so filled with life, and yet so natural. Kinda like Camp.

I put the stick into drive and decided to go up the coast.

Since it was late on a Tuesday evening, traffic was much better than usual. I had two choices - go up to Malibu (rich hippies) or down through the South Bay (rich preppies). I decided the former. That's where Hannah Montana took place, and -

Fuck me. I guess I'll have to say it now.

I liked Hannah Montana. I'd seen every episode. I'd picked it up on a fucking flight of all things. Maybe it was Zeus' karma, rather than killing me or whatever. I'd been interested because of Bianca, in a rather healthy way, if I say so myself. Because if she had gotten to be a normal kid in the 2000s, like Percy and everyone else had, she might've watched it. And I got pretty invested in it. I wish I could say my favorite parts were the Jackson and Rico side plots or something, but really it was the friendship between Lily and Miley.

I also liked the outfits.

Fashion history was something I'd gotten into at the Casino, even if I hadn't admitted it until I was like 17, and I hadn't turned to it for money until I'd gone to Seattle. Though, like I said, I up-cycled and sometimes just straight sold thrifted pieces, my true love laid in vintage restoration. If New Rome opened a demigod history museum, I'd jump to be their clothing department curator in a heartbeat.

It wasn't the fashion I cared about, really - not the sequins, the embroidery, the styles. It was the history of all of them. Guessing what eras people had come from in the Casino was my own personal iSpy game. And now, I liked deciphering how many lives each piece had had. It made me feel... less alone.

As far as the thrifting scene went, the best money I got, surprisingly, was at the LA Flea in Pasadena. It was the largest flea market in the city, only occurring every other Sunday, so I should've had less luck because of the over-saturated market. But tourists went there, and tourists would buy anything and everything.

I know I should've felt bad about basically scamming people. And a part of me did. I knew it was wrong, but - the girls and gays who bought my shit were usually old money. They could afford to shop at Erewhon, or at least Bristol Farms; they wore Lululemon and ate brunch out every day. If they wanted to make me into a Robin Hood, they were allowed to.

I'd seen online that resellers hurt thrift shops, too, because they bought pieces to resell that would otherwise be bought by poor people who, you know, actually wanted to wear them. But I wasn't coming in as some upper middle class teenager, gentrifying the market accidentally. I was poor too, and this was the only way I could make money that didn't drive me crazy. So I lived with it. I'd done much worse things.

I reached the change-off from the 405 to the 10, somewhere near Sawtelle. As the sun was setting, so came the lights of the city - starting in the distance, here and there, like fireflies, then filling the dark basin with sparkles. The sky was warm and red, the flowers and the succulents on the roadside making purple silhouettes. A lot could be said about the complicated freeway system of LA, but I liked the way the high ones, the ones that were constantly above the rest of the city, gave me views. Of the skyline; of the mountains. Of the sweet feeling of night and the whispers from the cemeteries I passed. And then, the bright lights of the Santa Monica Pier, barely visible from the way the beach dipped down below the road.

I could just barely see the top of the Ferris Wheel. It made me think of Hannah Montana - and Coney Island. Will, Kayla, and Austin, and I had gone there once. It was a whole Cabin 7 outing to celebrate the end of summer, but I'd been invited along. I'd been happy. But I couldn't ignore that I was different.

I always had been.

I tapped my fingers against my wheel, thankful when I left the noise of Santa Monica behind for the quiet of Malibu. Now, I rolled my windows down, though the jalopy that was my 2011 Honda Civic wasn't great at simple tasks like that. I pressed the button, but the window only went down a little. I sighed, keeping one eye on the road before I tried again. The button was jammed.

Come on, I thought-

I jammed the button further, and as I heard something click concerningly, I also got a flash of a bright light directly in front of me. I quickly swerved the car, careening it towards a narrow patch of dirt between the road and the cliff-side. As I did, for a moment, I swear time stopped. I was able to see what the light was - was able to see it as it passed right by me. On an empty stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway, alone and as brief as a shooting star, was a lemur.

For a moment, I just watched it go, my entire body going cold.

Then it was gone, and a car going south beeped at me. Even though I'd pulled over, I was still sticking out into the road, so I quickly moved it. Didn't move from my spot, though. Kept staring at where the lemur had been.

That wasn't good.

---

I got out of my car, preparing for the worst. A lemur was a restless spirit in the Roman religion. Unlike the lares, which were mostly formed, mostly substantial, lemures were shapeless - more like the traditional American view of ghosts, white sheets and what not. You couldn't make out who they'd been when they were alive. And when you saw them, anyone sane would immediately get a pit of dread in their stomach.

The dread right then was so strong that it felt like an omen.

I never saw lemures. Don't get me wrong; Los Angeles was a supremely haunted city, and I had to ignore ghosts begging me to bring them back to life like rich people avoided panhandlers. But they were usually not Roman (or Greek), and if they were, they were lares, which were harmless.

Lemures were different. They were restless, malevolent, and wanting something.

I got the beer. It was the closest thing I had to an offering. This is not how I wanted to use it, but I had to do the traditional ritual. Heads of households back in the day would throw black beans behind them with an averted gaze, as a gift of life for the lemur to feast on.

A Budweiser Black lager would have to do for this one.

I cracked open the bottle with a twist of my hand, then tossed it behind me, keeping my eyes on the ground. For a moment, nothing happened, and I thought I was wrong.

Then, directly behind me, there was a burst of cold.

I froze. But the lemur did not hurt me - like I'd hoped, I sensed it bending down. And, to my disgust, I heard it lap up the beer from the cement. Like a dog.

Before long, it was done. I felt it stand - felt it come to its full height.

Felt my entire body shiver as it reached for my bottle.

As our fingers touched, my eyes closed without me telling them to. Behind them, I saw a face I had not seen in a long time: Jason Grace. Blonde, square jaw, aggressively All-American. Long dead, for at least 7 years. Last I checked, I had no idea if he'd chosen Elysium or rebirth, but I'd known he was happy.

I spun, but by the time my eyes were open, the lemur was long gone.

Di Immortales, I thought. What the actual fuck.

The bottle was gone from my hand, the lemur was gone, the puddle was dry.

I had to catch my breath. I focused on the sea salt air next to me, heaving in deeply. My black Deftones t-shirt was suddenly not enough for the light night chill.

I knew it wasn't Jason. Jason was settled, and besides, only bad people became lemures. It'd be a miracle if I found out he'd somehow ended up back at Camp Jupiter, as a lare - or at Camp Half-Blood, as a ghost, since he'd chosen us Greeks in the end - but it was impossible for him to be a lemur.

That didn't mean the thing wasn't trying to tell me something.

Because that was the thing; lemures were wanting creatures, always. For most people, they wanted to hurt; for me, they also usually wanted to hurt, but sometimes they wanted to give me a message. Like an omen, or a harbinger.

I just didn't understand why it was warning me of a death that had happened when I was 14.

-

I had lost all appetite for the meditation I was going to do. My plan, as it was three nights a week, was to take alcohol up to the beach. I poured a little into the ocean, then drank the rest, usually only two bottles at the time. The ocean was one giant grave, but I didn't summon anybody or anything, nor was it some weird tribute to Poseidon or something. It was just... a thing.

I'd gotten the desire to do it a long time ago. Back when Will and I were still together. He'd convinced me to do it, despite how much it embarrassed me. It helped me feel more connected to all the dead out there, without having to go to the Underworld. Will had liked that part nearly as much as he liked me being kind to myself.

Despite our best attempts to make it otherwise, there was something fundamentally different between Will and I's views on the Underworld. On death. He was a healer, a trained healer, someone who'd saved so many people he'd loved - and lost double. Death was something to be neutral about at best - even when he accepted it, he still didn't go towards it.

I did.

I found solace - pardon my choice of words - in the idea. It would certainly be so much easier if my dad just showed up and took me now, whether as a living, new resident of his palace, or as another dead demigod. Even if Bianca wouldn't be waiting for me. I still liked the idea. Liked the void of it. Liked the feeling I got when I listened to that really edgy music, the shit even alternative kids winced at, and felt, finally, some pride in my stupid, fucked up soul.

I decided to get back in the car, ignoring the shame that came with not doing my self-care routine. I knew I'd regret it tomorrow, when I'd start feeling that disconnect from everyone that always came with running away from what was good from me. But I'd make up for it. I'd be as kind to myself as I could on the way home. I'd play music, go to bed early, and try not to be too hard on myself when I took my shit to Silverlake Flea and barely made enough sales to make up for my lost beer.

---

That night, I tossed and turned before finally falling asleep. And once I did, I was instantly transported.

I was back... back in the Casino. But it didn't look like the Casino now, after its several late 20th century renovations that added more flashy lights with every decade. When Bianca and I had first gotten stuck, it'd looked more like it had belonged in Monte Carlo, which is how it looked in my dream. Marble floors, chandeliers, soft haunted jazz always from a room away. I walked through so many rooms, but I couldn't find the source.

"Nico!"

I spun towards the voice, and instantly found myself at the threshold of another room. This one was not where the music was coming from, either. Here, inexplicably, they were playing Lady Gaga, and it looked like a giant Walmart sale floor without any of the shelves or products. Just open concrete and bright lights and... people dancing. The waltz. No - the Thriller dance from 13 Going on 30. Somehow, this all felt completely normal to me.

I looked for whoever had called my name, but I couldn't find her. All I could see were the people dancing, and even they were nearly shapeless, just like the lemur. I started to push through them, feeling their foggy forms like kisses on my cheeks and hands.

And then, I saw a real form. One with more color, at least.

It was a man - someone my age, maybe a bit older. I couldn't make out his face, only his World War I-style old-timey army uniform. No - Air Corps. Could make out only the threads in his dress blues, and the feeling of my skin against his as slowly, we placed our hands together.

His fingers curved down, preparing to lead me in the dance.

Then I woke up with a jolt.

------

A/N: Hi! I don't know if anybody is going to read this; it's been *years* since I published a new story on Wattpad so I have no idea what the scene is here anymore T_T but hopefully it finds an audience!

If you have read this far, thank you :) Please vote and comment if you liked it <3 And hang around for more! I work on this story frequently and it will be updated regularly!

With love, Athena