You're probably thinking, So, what exactly is *this*? That was my question too.

The only thing I could think was to, indeed, ask around. Ask harpies, the judges at the pavilion, check for people who remembered things in the fields of Asphodel. I didn't have a prophecy, but I had a lead - it had something to do with Jason - and a bunch of symptoms. I guess, in a way, I was playing doctor.

I had to try to not frown so much at the idea that it became permanent.

I went for the fields of Asphodel first, trailing my way across dry, barren ground to get there. There was a change in the air when I knew I was near it, and sure enough, as I crossed over a hill, I found it stretching out before me - endless rows of Asphodel itself, like the ghost of wheat or barley. Within it, hundreds of thousands of ordinary souls drifted aimlessly, shades among endless gray. It went on so far that it looked like it was the rest of the world.

I clenched my jaw, not liking the way being around them felt. I was hopeful, when I died, that I would make it into Elysium. Either way, I knew I wouldn't be here, and I was thankful for it. It was too neutral. Neither cold nor warm, neither bad nor good - just serviceable meh, for the rest of eternity.

I aimed for, and focused on, a building at the edge of the field. It looked like a shed, but it housed the person who oversaw the fields.

Once, the fields had been all but a free-for-all, but after Daedalus' death, he'd been ordered to build infrastructure. Ostensibly, there were now paths to follow and bridges to take somewhere in the asphodel - not that you could see them above the high ground. Daedalus and his builders were still building new roads, somewhere out in banal-land, but if they found any issues, they were supposed to report to the Overseer. They were like a... Underworld Department of Transportation.

"Hello," I said, as I approached the shed; there was a window built into it, kind of like a walk-up ice cream stand; behind it, a lare with a receding hairline and a long face looked bored out of his mind. "Do you have a moment to answer some questions?"

The lare looked up; once he saw me, he quickly sat straighter and forced his bored look into a serious scowl.

"Who am I answering to?"

"Nico di Angelo," I said, savoring the way he recognized my name with a flare of his nostrils. "Do I need to show you my badge?"

The lare's lips thinned. "No."

All of the Overseers were ghosts of influential urban planners and civil engineers, I guess because they were best equipped to handle the problems that arose. They picked up shifts the same way the judges at the pavilion did; I didn't recognize this one.

"Who are you?" I asked, leaning forward onto the sill of the window. The lare didn't cower.

"Robert Moses," he said. "Do I need to give you my signature?"

I stilled. Then I had to hold back a laugh. Robert Moses was the man who'd made New York what it was, and I think every New Yorker hated him. That was all I knew, based on what I'd heard while I was at camp. He was the type of guy to build expressways through bad parts of town, forcing them out for the sake of a bunch of rich white people's commute. An absolute bastard. If it'd been up to me, he'd be in Tartarus.

"No," I said, deciding to fuck with him. "I just need to ask you some questions."

Robert Moses scowled even deeper. Then he waved his hand. "You already said that. Let's get it over with."

"What's this I hear about lares in the fields remembering things from their lives?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Unless this is your first shift ever," I said. "You've definitely heard of it. I don't know who else would have it reported to them. And who else would report it to my father."

"I only take reports on the roads." Robert rolled backwards in his desk chair, then began to rifle through a file cabinet. I suffered the indignity of waiting on him, until finally he read out, "I've heard one of the roads near the Western border is already developing potholes. Is that what you're talking about?"

"Potholes?" I asked. "Are you having them build with mortal crap? Isn't there some impenetrable, Stygian enforced stone you can use that might prevent something stupid like that?"

His shoulders raised defensively. "I am not having them build anything. I just work here."

"By choice?"

"No," he snapped. "I'm forced to."

At this, I leaned back, giving him a considering look. "You're telling me the infamous Robert Moses is letting other people tell him what to do? Since when did you become a doormat?"

Robert Moses chest puffed out even more defensively, and I held back my laugh, feeling like I was dealing with a cartoon character whose face might start going red at any moment.

Unable to help myself, I added, "It doesn't feel good to have your whole life - or afterlife, in your case - upended for the sake of a fucking road, does it?"

The man's 1960s suit crinkled as he quickly rolled his chair back over to me.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "You're just a child. You have no right to disrespect me."

At this, I stiffened. My fun was gone; I felt my own face go warm.

"Listen to me," I hissed back, with twice the darkness in my tone. I leaned forward, grabbing him by the collar, and his eyes flew open. "You tell me what the fuck is going on with the lares, or I swear to God, I'll send you straight to Tartarus. You think anybody will notice some random urban planner has gone missing? They won't - and if they do, I'll easily convince them not to care, because they have every reason to hate you the same way your entire fucking home state does now."

I had him. His eyes were so wide now I thought they might pop out. He shook a little, then said, "I- I have a file on it. If you want the full report. I don't know much more than you do. Please!"

I dropped him.

"Find me the file."

Instantly, he got up from his chair and drifted back over to the file cabinet, going at twice the speed to find it. I wiped the sweat from my brow, tired out by holding onto something so incorporeal. I was grateful when he held out the file to me at last, without looking me in the eye.

"Thank you," I said coldly, snatching it from him. He looked from his peripheral at me, and I added, "I'm not leaving. I'll be back."

Letting him to cower, I walked a few yards away and began to comb through the file. Inside, there was a report in a smudged typewriter font. I clucked my tongue at the fact that the Underworld had only gotten as far as owning typewriters. More likely, it was a taste thing on account of my father. He had his preferences.

Soul A (formerly Carmody, Andrew; mortal; died 1995) began to experience memories of his former life as an investment banker. Upon receiving a vision of his office in downtown new york city, he fell to his knees and began screaming about mergers and acquisitions. This disrupted traffic and delayed construction on Interfield Route 10 by a day. Carmody has been sent to Tartarus.

I blinked. Sending him to Tartarus when he'd done nothing wrong was so unfair that I had to do something about it. I made a mental note of it, remembering to use it as a bargaining chip with my father if I could.

Soul B (formerly Tedeschi, Sienna; mortal; died 2010; and Shankar, Anjali; half-blood daughter of Apollo; died 1955) was struck with a vision of both of her lives at once; the confusion resulted in her lashing out at a nymph and causing severe damage. Due to her role as a one-time favored daughter of Apollo, she was not able to be sent to Tartarus; she has since had her memories wiped once again and been in-stated in the Fields of Punishment.

Soul C (formerly Maria Alonso; half-blood daughter of Aphrodite d. 1913) did not receive her memories, but did receive the ability to feel love again. She engaged in amorous conversation with a nymph, and the nymph reciprocated; the two are now missing. Higher-ups plan to send someone after them when we have someone free.

That was it; the rest was jargon that wouldn't have been out of place in an HR suit.

For a moment, I just stood there and stared at them. There had been three of them - three who had had their memories, supposedly permanently wiped, come back - if only for a moment. While I sympathized with Andrew Carmody and Sienna/Anjali, I had no sympathy for Maria. She didn't earn anything short of Asphodel, and she had no right to escape it - and to leave everybody else exactly like her still wandering.

It pained me to know that with the bureaucracy down here, "send someone after them when we have someone free" could mean it'd be 50 years from now.

I wanted to keep the file with me, in case there was a pattern here I could pick up on. Thus far, all I could tell was that all three of them died in the last century or two. That and that two of them had been half-bloods - and one had been an investment banker. Yikes.

Sighing, I took the paper I needed out, then returned the rest back to Robert Moses, shoving it across the counter like I'd found everything I needed.

"Get back to work," I said.

He was less cowardly than before, but still timid; he grabbed the file with one unsteady hand.

"You don't deserve your memories," I added, turning to go. My skin was ice cold. "For the record."

Robert Moses held the file close to his chest, but he still had some pride. He scowled, and said, "Why do you hate me?"

"I know what you did to communities who were in your way," I said. It made me think of Zeus, who'd just turn into an animal to trick them if some girl he was pursuing turned me down. "Your highways suck. They didn't even help."

Robert Moses let out a huff; there must've been a waver in my voice, because his confidence was coming back.

"You hippies always want me to sacrifice what I earned through my own blood, sweat and tears," he said. "They had it coming."

Anger spiraled through me like a paring knife - all I could think of was Hazel, or even Bianca and I, had Hades not been looking out for us. We'd be the exact type of people who'd have a highway built through our neighborhood, forcing us to leave our homes. We did not have it coming. My Mamma, coming to America in part to flee a fascist dictatorship, did not have it coming. We'd earned our place here, too.

I almost lashed out at the man - almost killed him for a second time. But I had to control myself.

I walked away before I could slap him in the face and get my ass beaten again - at last - by my father.

---

Gods had plans, schemes, arcane reasons for what they did. I knew that for a fact. I'd known it when Percy had walked into Camp Jupiter carrying a goddess on his back. I'd known it when I'd been taken to Europe in a fucking jar. There had to be a pattern here, too.

I wished I knew more about criminal investigations, because if I could, maybe I could put together a profile. What type of deity would return memories to Asphodelian lares and mess with the fates' heads? And what would they do next?

I had nothing. And I was tired.

I'd been moving constantly since that morning. I'd buried a body, gotten in a car crash. It had to be like 2 am in the living world by now, and I needed sleep. I was not sleeping here, so I gathered all the strength I could and walked through shadows back up to the land of the living, looking for my new Lambo in the darkness.

When I found it, I was so struck that I almost forgot to breathe.

It was one thing for Hades to say he was going to give me one; it was another to find it gleaming in the moonlight, a black panther waiting on its haunches for me. All around it, the flat land of the valley was navy blue in the night, sailing on for miles until those red rock mountains spiraled up like walls. I was not a desert person, but even I had to admit, the sight was something to behold.

Slowly, I walked towards the car. When I touched its sleek handle and found it didn't run away from me, I got in. The inside was as luxe as the outside - all black, all leather, with the only color the faint blue light coming from beneath the center console. The air was already on, not that I needed it - what, with it being night in the desert - and the touch screen blinked, waiting for me to take control.

For a moment, I felt weird. Maybe it was Hades giving it to me - maybe it was my being used to an old clunker - maybe it was because I think, with all my sleepiness, tonight I would've liked to be the passenger to a trustworthy diver. But I was over it the moment I set the file down on the seat. I had a place to rest.

I closed the driver's door again and went to the trunk, expecting to see all my clothes. Sure enough, Hades had kept to our deal, and the Tardis-size trunk held everything I needed. I let out a sigh of relief, then dove into the backseat.

It's not like flat leather was a four poster bed, but I'd slept in worse places. In fact, I kind of prided myself on my ability to sleep anywhere, even sitting straight up; Will and his friends had always thought it was crazy impressive.

I hit the lock on the door, and a moment later, my legs were curled up to my chest and my mind was off to dreamland.

---

"Nico!"

A voice was reaching out to me from the dark; I blinked, bleary and dazed. A moment later, I saw the whites of familiar black eyes, then black hair and freckles. But she was - she looked like she was 23.

"Bianca?"

I jumped backwards, but there was nowhere to go. Like I was watching a hologram rather than speaking to a person, Bianca didn't react to my confusion, she just started to talk.

"I need you to keep moving onwards," she said. "I need you to trust your gut."

"What?" I asked, recoiling. "What are you- who are you?"

Bianca grabbed my shoulders, and this time, I knew - somehow, deep inside, just from her touch, I knew that it was really her. If not her, then some formulation of her. But she'd been reborn. Were spirits being brought back from rebirth now? That wasn't possible.

"You're not going to know what to do," she said, "But someone is trying to communicate with you. You don't need to profile them. Profile yourself. They've tailored their calls to what would make you listen."

My ears began to ring. This was in my head.

"I don't-" I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"And one more thing-" Bianca-but-not-really said. "You were right. About the kids at Camp. They should've been kinder to you. That wasn't on you."

It was like a punch to the gut. I hadn't thought about that for years. I'd completely made my peace - completely shaped my life - around the idea that it was me who'd run away from them. And I wasn't going to start doubting that now. If this was Bianca - it was some fucking puppet of her, made by whoever was trying to communicate with me.

Whoever was trying to hurt me.

I looked her in the eyes, narrow and cold.

"You can't get to me," I said. "I don't believe you."

"Soldatino," Bianca said, her voice soft but weary. Finally, she looked me in the eyes, too; I should've woken up out of pure fright. "You have to."

------

A/N: Shout out to Paola Bennet for teaching me the word "soldatino" in 2013; I will forever think that is Bianca's canon nickname for him :) I still follow Paola on Instagram and she is still as talented as ever! <3

If you've never seen it, look up "Soldatino" by Paola Bennet, it's a beautiful song that's been stuck in my head for years!!!

With love, Athena