Bewitched || P. Jackson

𝔾host King

It was long past 4 am by the time Nicki drifted into a fitful sleep. Ethan was the first to fall asleep, with Luke following soon after. Nicki was left lying awake between the two snoring boys her mind racing 100 miles an hour.

Eventually, Hypnos must have taken pity on the girl and allowed her the embrace of sleep.

Nicki saw the dark shore of a river. Wisps of fog drifted across the black water. The beach was strewn with jagged volcanic rock. A young boy squatted at the riverbank, tending a campfire. The flames burned an unnatural blue colour. Then she saw the boy's face. 

It was Nico di Angelo. He was throwing pieces of paper into the fire—Mythomagic trading cards, part of the game he'd been obsessed with since before Nicki had even met him for the first time.

Nico was twelve by now, but he looked older. His hair had grown longer. It was shaggy and almost touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark. His olive skin had turned paler. He wore ripped black jeans and a battered aviator's jacket that was several sizes too big, unzipped over a black shirt. His face was grimy, his eyes a little wild.

He looked like a kid who'd been living on the streets. Nicki felt a pang of guilt, knowing she hadn't been able to find him. How he had ad his birthday alone.

She waited for him to look at her. No doubt he'd get crazy angry, start accusing her of letting his sister die. But he didn't seem to notice her.

Nicki stayed quiet, not daring to move.

Nico tossed another trading card into the blue flames. "Useless," he muttered. "I can't believe I ever liked this stuff." Nicki's stomach twisted.

"A childish game, master," another voice agreed. It seemed to come from near the fire, but she couldn't see who was talking.

Nico stared across the river. On the far shore was a black beach shrouded in haze. Nicki recognised it: the Underworld. Nico was camping at the edge of the river Styx.

"I've failed," he muttered. "There's no way to get her back." The other voice kept silent. Nico turned toward it doubtfully. "Is there? Speak."

Something shimmered. Nicki thought it was just firelight. Then she realized it was the form of a man—a wisp of blue smoke, a shadow.

If she looked at him head-on, he wasn't there. But if she looked out of the corner of her eye, she could make out his shape. A ghost.

"It has never been done," the ghost said. "But there may be a way."

"Tell me," Nico commanded. His eyes shined with a fierce light."

An exchange," the ghost said. "A soul for a soul."

"I've offered!" Nicki let out a choked sob, unheard by the boy.

"Not yours," the ghost said. "You cannot offer your father a soul he will eventually collect anyway. Nor will he be anxious for the death of his son. I mean a soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death."

Nico's face darkened. "Not that again. You're talking about murder."

"I'm talking about justice," the ghost said. "Vengeance."

"Those are not the same thing."

The ghost laughed dryly. "You will learn differently as you get older."

Nico stared at the flames. "Why can't I at least summon her? I want to talk to her. She would...she would help me."

"I will help you," the ghost promised. "Have I not saved you many times? Did I not lead you through the maze and teach you to use your powers? Do you want revenge for your sister or not?"