Ghost King I

Solitude is mandatory, loneliness is fun

Will gave up pounding on the walls around three AM and took a short nap. At about seven, he got up and headed outside. If anyone came out, he'd make them tell him where Nico was. He was seriously starting to worry. Who were these guys, and what did they want with his friend? Did they want him to raise the dead or something? That wasn't really possible, and he worried what they'd do to Nico when they found it out.

A man with a false eye and a ton of scars decorating his face stepped out the front door of Number 13 quickly and drew a thin stick. Will realized he was going to disappear like the last girl had. He ran towards him, yelling, "Stop!" For some reason, the man listened to him and hastily crammed the rod back in his pocket. "You just came from in that house, didn't you?" he demanded.

The man glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

"What do you want with Nico?" he asked, shaking his shoulders a little. "Just give him back already!"

The man looked furious for a moment, but suddenly his face shifted into a mask of confusion. It threw Will for a loop, and he wondered if he had imagined it. "I don't quite know what you're talking about, son," he said. "Are you insinuating that I have kidnapped someone? Do I need to call the police?"

Will stepped back, wondering if this guy was just an unfortunate mortal that he was totally wigging out right now. "Sorry, sir," he said, but the doubt remained. It would be better if he didn't remember Will being there... He snapped his fingers in front of the man's face, and said, "No need to call the police, I'm just a normal teenage boy."

His human eye glazed over and seemed to react correctly. The man muttered, "Yes, of course... an ordinary kid." But his false eye spun in its socket and fixed on him, looking really ticked off. The man suddenly clapped a hand over his real eye and eyed Will with the other. "Just what kind of a stunt was that?" he demanded in an ominous tone. "What are you trying to pull here, kid?"

Will was absolutely shocked. How had he seen through the Mist? He knew he had done it right, his eye had fogged up and he had started to agree. It was like he had completely turned around halfway through, nothing like the way Rachel Dare had seen through the Mist instantly. He wasn't just a mortal with the sight, and any demigod that old would have to be really skilled to have lived that long that the Mist wouldn't be a problem for him. So he was just a really, really stubborn mortal? Will began backing away slowly, but the man started after him.

"Hold on," he growled. "I've got a few more questions for you." He stretched out a gnarled hand to seize Will's orange Camp Half Blood shirt, but Will twisted away and sprinted up the road. Behind him, the man let out a roar of rage, but he didn't pursue him. He suspected it had something to do with the wooden leg. Unless he was the son of Nike or something, there was no chance he'd catch up like that.

Will watched from a distance until the man took out the rod again and vanished with a bang, just like the girl from before had. Then he slowly crept back up the road, feeling like a criminal. Which he shouldn't have to. It wasn't illegal to walk down the road in London, he was pretty sure. He approached the door of Number 11, determined to pound on the walls some more.

Okay, maybe this one was kinda illegal.

But, Will reminded himself, legality was hardly important now. And it hadn't really been in the past, either. During the battle of Olympus, he had instructed people to steal phones. Of course they had been returned, but still. And allowed the Aphrodite campers to loot for anti-monster perfume.

Actually, now that Will thought about it, he had done a lot of things frowned upon by law enforcement.

Past transgressions aside, Will was not feeling too excited about another potential breaking and entering charge on his head. Sure, he hadn't gotten caught before, but that was no reason for him to start today. Guiltily, he wandered to a new place to hack on the walls, hoping that maybe there would be a weak spot somewhere in this house. Drawing his sword, he tried to slice a big gash through it. Predictably, nothing happened.