Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson, or the Kane Chronicles.

Warnings: Swearing, character death, some medical inaccuracy, along with above-canon levels of violence. Some symptoms, diagnoses, and timelines are stretched or compressed for dramatic story purposes.

"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. . .It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark and thinking there is one more step than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought about things."

-Lemony Snicket, Horseradish

The toddler screamed again behind him.

Amos flinched before collecting himself. Panic wouldn't do anyone any good. He shoved down his useless guilt as he focused on trying to save the life of the child's mother after stopping her would-be murderer.

Too late, the realist in him whispered. You're no healer, but you know an artery when you see it.

"Just hold still, the ambulance won't be long," he said urgently. Again, he wished he had bothered to learn more healing spells as he tried to slow the woman's bleeding; his shirt was more crimson than white at this point.

He muttered another spell under his breath to little effect, as she coughed weakly. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she tried to sit herself up.

When Amos put a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to lie back down, tell her to save her strength for a last-ditch effort by human doctors, she clutched at his sleeve with a surprisingly strong grip.

"It's gone," he said quickly as he gently loosened her grip; her hands were clammy and cold as ice. "I dealt with it, your son is safe. Save your strength."

The fevered, piercing gaze she fixed him with terrified Amos.

"You. . .are not mortal," she managed. Amos paused briefly. He knew that look. He'd met some clear-sighted mortals during his training as an initiate within the First Nome. They tended see things they shouldn't, as if magic was a veil they could draw aside at will.

All of them had loathed it.

Amos nodded; his hands began to tremble as the bleeding refused to stop. Damn curses. "I am a magician, ma'am."

"Then you—shit. . ." She broke off to struggle for breath as she hacked and spat. Heedless of the blood she was spitting out everywhere, Amos ripped off a glove, and one spell later, pressed the makeshift cloth against the ugly gash across her stomach.

Despite his exhaustion, he used a heating spell to try and stave off at least that symptom of the shock.

The least he could do was try and keep her comfortable if he was going to be useless.

The hacking fit passed, but the bleeding still barely slowed. Amos clenched his jaw, and ran through what he'd seen of the attack again, trying to remember more of the curse written upon the mugger's blade. He had felt the malice in it even from a block away, like ice trickling down his spine.

He couldn't ever recall running faster in his life, heedless of the danger of crossing to the wrong side of the river when he had seen the woman shielding her son from the mugger who Amos wasn't sure had been at all human. He had turned into dust as Amos threw him across the wall, hieroglyphs dancing around his staff and illuminating the night.

The woman's grip on his wrist tightened, forcing Amos back to the now. "Take care of him. Percy."

"You'll be fine," Amos said reflexively, even as spots danced before his eyes from trying to untangle the effects of the curse on her wound. The effect was simple; the blood would not stop, and the wound refused to close. The curse itself meanwhile, was complicated and twisted and full of intent.

She shook her head, wincing. "Kind. . .to say so. But no. I know."

"Mama?"

Amos made the mistake of looking when he heard the toddler's—Percy's—scared, unsure question. His green eyes were wide and confused, tiny hands wringing his wrinkled shirt as he leaned forward. Amos kept himself between the boy and his mother, mindful of all the blood. No one should ever have that as their last memory of a parent.

Blood and screaming and strange men on a dingy New York street and whywon'tshewakeup—

Thoth's beak, he was a kid. A kid.

The same age as Julius and Ruby's children, he'd bet. The thought of any of them in this position was like a stab to the chest.

Amos would fix this. He would.

"You 'kay?" Percy asked, still trying to get around Amos, who gently pulled him up and around to a mercifully clean spot right above the woman's head.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," she whispered, a small sob escaping after the endearment. She craned her neck, struggling to look at her son. "Just. . .stay with him."

Amos's head whipped around as he heard sirens going off in the distance. About fucking time.

He turned around back to see Percy reach out one hand to his mother, whose eyes were now glimmering with unrestrained tears as she drank in the sight of her son before looking at Amos, her expression desperate and terrified.

"Promise me," she pleaded, her voice hoarse as blood trickled down her chin. "Take care of him."

"I'll make sure he's looked after by—"

"No!" she growled, her eyes feverishly bright. "You. You saw, you can protect him from them. He's. . .Percy is not like me. The monsters, they will hunt him. Save him. His father. . .we can't, he. . .he needs to be protected. Please. My son."

She let go, leaving a bloody hand-print on Amos's suit jacket, her last effort spent. Percy was silent, tears streaming down his cheeks, even as he didn't quite understand what was happening.

But Amos had been around enough toddlers to know that he understood enough. And it was the fear on his young face, at the thought of being left alone in the world—a world that had ripped his mother from him—that made Amos's decision.

He leaned forward, and clasped the woman's hand in both of his.

"My name is Amos Kane, and I am a scribe to the House of Life," he said firmly, "On my soul, I swear to protect Percy as if he were my own."

She let out a long sigh, a slight smile curving her bloodied lips. "Thank you, Amos. And. . .Perseus. His name is Perseus Jackson."

"And you?" he asked gently, ignoring the flashing lights out of the corner of his eye as the screeching sirens neared them. Perseus Jackson huddled closer to Amos, whimpering.

"Sally. Tell him. . .someday. I love him, and I'm so. . .sorry," she said in a directive Amos felt settling around his shoulders with the same weight of his vow.

Her eyes drifted closed, and Amos felt his eyes sting as Percy Jackson began to scream and sob.

Amos didn't let the toddler go as he was questioned by the mortal police.

Percy Jackson, on his part, had exhausted himself after several minutes of heartbreaking cries for a mother who couldn't respond.

He fell asleep as his tears worked their way out, and was soon drooling on Amos's suit with his tiny fists clutching Amos's braids as he slept.

It was startlingly endearing, if Amos was being honest.

"Well, if that's all, Mister Kane, you can go, after you give your signature and date. Today's December the twentieth," the constable said, fixing him with a suspicious eye from across the desk.

It had taken nearly an hour for everything, as well as some spell usage that would've left Julius either spitting fire or splitting his sides with laughter at Amos's past hypocrisy if he had seen any of it, and the police's patience had long since worn thin with Amos's sidestepping of questions.

"And your nephew, I suppose," the constable tacked on, marginally more empathetic as his gaze fell on the sleeping Percy. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Amos nodded, calm mask firmly in place. "Thank you, officer. We're grateful for your help."

The police officer snorted at that, but Amos was already doing his best to not obviously flee, I do not flee, Ruby, out of the police station before he changed his mind and called Amos back on some trumped-up suspicion. Thankfully, news blaring from the television of a sudden Category Five hurricane forming off the east coast of Florida distracted the constable, preserving the peace.

Considering Amos and Percy had no immediate resemblance to each other, it had taken some paperwork Amos "happened" to have on him to prove anything to a very paranoid deployment of the NYPD. Sheer luck had granted him papyrus on his person to change into the necessary documents on the fly, but by the end, Amos had been very ready to string everyone up by their underwear and walk out of there.

But that would've defeated the purpose of the whole charade.

To the mortal eye, Amos lived in a rundown warehouse and held no steady job—not to mention all the traveling they would find on record. He wouldn't have a chance in all the Duat at legal guardianship of Percy, and as much as he loathed it, it was much simpler for him to backdate everything.

Not to mention it would minimize the amount of time he'd have to spend explaining why he was taking on a mortal ward to the Chief Lector. The rules were normally very clear about this sort of thing: just don't do it, you ridiculous excuse of a magician.

And normally, Amos just didn't bother. Julius was always the one who toed the line out of the two of them.

But he'd quite solidly outdone his brother, Amos thought ruefully. Even if he still had no idea what for, beyond his instincts screaming at him to not leave Percy alone, and his promise to a dead woman.

There was something about him Amos just couldn't quite put his finger on.

Which would be a shit explanation for Desjardins, if Iskandar sends him out to Brooklyn after catching wind of this.

Amos shuddered at that thought as he hailed a cab from the street corner, and adjusted his grip on Percy, soothing him as he stirred a little, just like he had watched Ruby and Julius comfort their children countless times.

Because that's who he was now, to this trusting child with rumpled black hair and sleepy green eyes. He only hoped he would live up to it.

Amos yelped, and was heedless of the scattered paperwork as he went to pull Percy out of the pool.

Percy, meanwhile, only gave a very confused-looking Philip of Macedonia his own toothy grin as water was sent flying everywhere by Amos's hasty retrieval.

"Percy! You need to stay out of there," he barked, setting Percy down gently near the kitchen area, and away from the man-eating magical crocodile.

Amos was going to go grey before Julius, he just knew it.

Percy, oblivious, blinked at him, all guileless curiosity. "Why, Uncle Amos?"

"Because it's not safe for you in there." Amos explained with exasperation. This was the third time this week he had caught Percy in pool, and every time, he got closer to Philip; on the shabti's part, he seemed to regard the toddler with a strange indulgence, circling around Percy as he waded towards the crocodile. Nevertheless, Amos worried that one day Percy would manage to test Philip's temper.

"Why?"

Amos sighed. One of those days, then. "Because Philip is very dangerous, and somewhat. . .testy."

"Why?"

"Because I made him that way, to protect everyone within Brooklyn House." Not that anyone besides him and Percy lived in Brooklyn House.

"Why?"

"Because I appreciate the help if bad guys ever show up." Not that they would, Amos thought smugly. He'd reached out to J.D. Grissom in Dallas, and he had been more than willing to send help with strengthening the wards. A god couldn't even peer inside Brooklyn House now. Not without Amos's permission, and he wasn't giving that out anytime soon.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not all-powerful, Percy," Amos said, as kind as he could manage it. "I won't always be there."

"Why?" Percy asked simply, the beginnings of worry showing in his trembling lip. Amos didn't answer, wracking his brain alternately for a good answer or a good way to change the subject.

He remembered his mother's mugging, Amos knew that much. He may not have completely understood what death was yet, and Amos thanked Thoth every day for it, but Percy was clever, if somewhat hyperactive. The concept of a parent leaving and never coming back wasn't foreign.

"Because. . .one day you'll grow up. You won't need me then, believe me." Amos settled on that for now, and pulled Percy in for a loose hug. Percy, for his part, was surprisingly solemn.

He had always seemed to trust Amos from the first day; Amos, for his part, wondered if he deserved it. Unable to save his mother, barely able to give Percy something resembling a normal upbringing. . .the list went on. And that wasn't even taking into account the more dangerous aspects of living with a magician responsible for an entire nome.

Amos feared the day a serious threat decided to cross the river into Brooklyn.

Percy started to get twitchy, and Amos let him go, steering him in the direction of the library where all of his coloring books were kept. He then stood up, dusted his trousers off, and slowly picked up his loose papers that he'd been studying before Percy's latest Philip-related foray.

Amos sat back down at the table with them, and sighed heavily.

It was quite a good thing Percy was such an easygoing child, rolling with everything as earnestly as anyone could in his position, considering how two months on, Amos was quite ready to start tearing his hair out over just trying to deal with what accompanied mere paperwork.

The backdating of documents, the misdirection, the—Amos involuntarily made the gesture against evil at the memory—awkward visit from Desjardins. It had turned out to only be the beginning.

First, there had been the visit to the pediatrician, who had a cousin stationed in the Twenty-Fifth Nome, thankfully. She hadn't batted an eye when Amos had pleaded with her to do a complete check-up on Percy, including a paternity test on the off-chance Amos could try and find the father.

From this, Amos had gained several valuable pieces of information that had only served to confuse him further about Perseus Jackson, and why his mother would be so determined to protect him from "the monsters".

Who would hunt a child down?

Well—he considered, tapping his pen against his chin, there was one reason he could think of.

But he'd know if Percy were a godling. And Desjardins, famed for his adherence to Per Ankh doctrine, had been utterly dismissive of him, the fact of his existence aside.

He would've known, if Amos couldn't see it. Wouldn't see it.

Amos looked at the forms in front of him, and ran through what he knew for a fact yet again, rubbing at his temples.

First, there was the matter of age. The pediatrician had placed Percy at roughly three and a half years, with a birthday landing somewhere in August. Relatively simple, if it weren't for the fact that public records concerning the only Perseus Jackson born August 1992 in the state of New York had no father listed. Only Sally Jackson as the mother.

The paternity test run couldn't seem to yield a solid sample either according to the pediatrician, who had been bewildered beyond belief. It hadn't even been a matter of not having the DNA on record, she had explained; they just couldn't find any non-anomalous DNA that could be linked to someone who wasn't Sally Jackson, let alone a potential father.

Then, there'd been the usual vaccines and tests, which had left Amos with a note recommending that Percy be tested for ADHD or ADD once he started school.

Amos had been unsurprised by this. It was already clear that the phrase attention span was one Percy regarded as optional, with his complex wandering tangents, difficulty listening to Amos's long-winded warnings and instructions about things such as Philip and tetchy wards—not to mention his near superhuman reflexes.

The last one was what gave him pause, though, after research of symptoms of ADHD.

Being able to almost magically stop juice spills, or constantly "have bad feelings" when demons were within two blocks of them was not on any list he found.

He was human, though. Amos knew Percy was human; he'd had multiple very qualified people tell him Percy was as mortal as they came, along with his own assessment. He didn't come from a lineage of magicians, he had no demon inside him, no mark of being someone's chosen. He was human.

Percy Jackson was human.

Amos looked at the forms listing off the results for Percy's reflexes, shared a brief look with Philip of Macedonia, and groaned. And yet.

There was something.

"Why don't I do it?" Percy suggested with all of the subtlety of a seven-year-old hyped up on the promise of sugar. "That way, neither of you have to argue over it."

That is to say, Amos thought with amusement, none. Four years on from Sally's death, Percy was beginning to grow up, but things like tact weren't appearing within the kid anytime soon.

At Percy's suggestion, Sadie glared with all the might and disdain of her newly six-year-old self as she possessively drew her birthday cake closer. "No. Stupidhead."

"I should still do it," Carter interjected, playing up the mysterious maturity that came with being the only one who was eight. "I'm older than both of you, I should blow out the candles."

"Shut up," Sadie and Percy said in unison before looking at each other, both of them wrinkling their noses. Ruby snickered, and her father reached for another drink as they spoke in sync again. "No, you shut up."

The two of them began to retread the never-ending argument over who had the right to say 'shut up' first, and Carter moved in for the cake, a wary eye on his adopted cousin and younger sister the entire time, Amos noticed approvingly. Julius, meanwhile, was laughing fondly in the corner at the chaos Sadie's birthday party had rapidly de-evolved into after dinner, glass of wine precariously in hand.

Honestly, Amos was shocked it hadn't happened sooner. Carter, Sadie, and Percy acted like siblings around each other whenever they were together; this included the delight at the addition of another friend whenever Amos and Percy came out to Los Angeles, rapidly shifting alliances of two in fights, and the age-old war over who really got to go first.

This, they were all learning, included birthday cakes.

Percy pushed Carter away from the cake, Sadie yanked them both back by their shirts, and Amos shared a wary look with Julius as they prepared to wade in and break things up when the birthday cake—all three layers generously covered with vanilla frosting and the much-debated candles—promptly exploded, hitting every last person in the room.

A moment of rare silence descended upon the Kane household. Then Sadie began to cry. Percy and Carter quickly added their screaming, both of them blaming each other for the explosion. Ruby's parents began to mutter, and Julius stood up resignedly.

In retrospect, Amos thought as he took his glasses off to clean them as he listened to an ominous watery rushing noise from the ceiling, perhaps we should have broken them up just a little bit earlier.

Julius and Ruby finished pulling the three children apart, and were in the process of scolding all three of them for the fighting when Ruby's mother, Edith Faust, clucked in sympathy at the sound of water rushing above them. "Oh, dear, that was your toilet, too, I imagine. Ridiculous things backing up all the time."

Her husband, Graham, only grunted and glowered at the spot where the cake had been as if it had personally offended him. Ruby frowned, the gears turning behind her bright blue eyes. "That makes no sense, we had the plumber in last month after an incident."

This was accompanied with a significant glance to imply what kind of incident it was, and Amos placed a hand on Percy's shoulder to remind him to stay silent at the implication of magic.

Percy's lack of the pharaohs' blood as well as his status as Amos's ward, if worst ever came to worst, would grant him protection from the House of Life. Carter and Sadie would never be so lucky in their lives; ignorance was their best shield, for now, until they were old enough for Julius and Ruby to teach them how to defend themselves.

But it still did not explain the exploding toilet.

There was a logic to these things, and Amos couldn't figure out where the plumbing entered in a situation involving who got to blow out birthday candles.

"But perhaps things just got a bit more out of hand than we thought," Ruby offered, her tone skeptical. Her faded London accent, Amos noted absentmindedly, was bleeding through tonight. "They are, well, ours."

Julius gave her a thoroughly lovestruck grin, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he walked by her. "That they are, darling."

Carter and Sadie both paused from their cake dramatics to begin gagging, and Amos dreaded the day they grew up.

"Hey! What about me, Aunt Ruby?" Percy piped up, playing the oblivious little contrarian. Despite Sadie and Carter being rather eager to be cleaned up, each using the table cloth to wipe at their faces, Percy seemed rather content to sit there and lick the frosting off his fingers.

Ruby gave him a grin, and ran her fingers through his surprisingly clean locks. "You're ours too, Perseus. Gods know you make just as much trouble."

Percy grinned widely at the full name, and straightened up at the mention of making trouble. "Yeah, I do."

For reasons Amos had never quite gotten, Ruby was always able to get away with the full name; he sometimes suspected it was linked to Ruby telling him the story of the Greek hero Perseus when he was little, and wishing for more stories about the parents no one knew about.

The day Amos had been forced to sit him down to explain how he'd come to be in Amos's care had not been a pretty one.

Ruby herded the three children upstairs, leaving Amos lost in his own thoughts as everyone else turned back to the incident involving cakes and plumbing, and Ruby's theory, which was quickly gaining traction among the magicians in the room.

It was an explanation full of holes, but what better one was there?

"It doesn't quite make sense," Julius said slowly, stroking his newly-grown goatee. "Unless I missed an earlier fight involving plumbing today? This is not chaos magic."

Amos shrugged, nothing coming to mind, but said nothing before Graham Faust chimed in—a very grudging invite on Julius's part. But they were family, and loved Carter and Sadie, if nothing else.

"What 'bout yours, Amos?" Ruby's father asked, his eyes dark with something ugly. "Already kicked out of school once, don't try and tell me that kid is—"

"He is perfectly 'normal', as you'd say," Amos interjected sharply. "Whatever you are trying to imply—don't."

"More importantly, he is a part of this family," Julius added, taking out his wand to clean up the mess created by the children. "This was simply a case of emotions running a bit too high on a happy day, and nothing more."

Ruby's father harrumphed, but said nothing more as he picked himself up to lumber upstairs. With him and Edith gone, and Ruby still upstairs with the children, the dining room fell truly quiet for the first time that evening, save for the sound of plumbing gone haywire from above.

Amos looked at Julius tiredly; his brother had a look on his face he knew far too well. "Don't say it, Julius."

His brother grimaced. "Loath as I am to admit that my father-in-law is right on anything, he may not be completely off the mark here, Amos. You never have found out what he and his mother were running from those years ago. Percy may not be blood of the pharaohs, but if he's a regular mortal, I'll eat Doughboy."

Despite the grim nature of their conversation, Amos reflexively snickered at the mention of Julius's persnickety little shabti. "He'll enjoy that discussion, I'm sure."

"It'll be good for him. Warty little troll," Julius grumbled.

"Why do you keep him around, if he's so deliberately bad at his job?" Amos said with a snort. Doughboy had a tendency stronger than most sentient shabti of abject hatred towards his master; usually, this manifested either in extreme pedantry towards Julius's commands, or bouts of futile bloodlust and ego.

"My own dreams of world domination," Julius said, straight-faced as he activated a spell to get the pieces of frosting and candles off the ceiling. "I steal his plans and make them my own."

Amos grinned; Julius was rarely this loose outside of life-or-death situations. He must have broken out the brandy tonight. "Say no more. Now what do we do about the plumbing?"

Julius raised an eyebrow. "We still don't know what caused it, Amos."

"It was probably Carter or Sadie," Amos waved it off, suddenly wishing the whole mystery of the plumbing could disappear. He wasn't as sober as he could have been, and it was once again raising questions and headaches he had no idea how to answer. "And speaking of Carter and Sadie—"

"We're not separating them," Julius said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ruby insisted when we decided to have kids, and I agree. They're siblings, and they won't be separated, the House of Life be damned. Not while Ruby and I are alive."

Amos blinked at the vehemence in Julius's voice, at first a little hurt that he'd think that badly of Amos's intentions towards his own family, than confused as he registered the defensiveness.

"That. . .was not what I was about to say," Amos said, giving his brother a confused look. "Did something happen today? I was only going to suggest perhaps at least making them aware of their heritage. Not separating them."

Julius froze, hand then gave a tired, drawn-out sigh, dragging his hands across his face. "Yes, actually. I'm sorry about that; one of Iskandar's people called this morning while you were out with the children."

"Ah." That would most certainly explain Julius's reaction.

"Indeed. There was much heavy hinting at the dangers of raising two children with such potential together, as well as Ruby's visions regarding the gods and how tricky it is to properly divine," Julius said mockingly. "It was still on my mind."

Amos bit back a comment about Ruby's visions and the dangers of consorting with the gods. There wasn't enough alcohol in Los Angeles for that conversation, and Amos at least agreed with Julius on the first count, if not the latter two. Carter and Sadie were siblings, and it was only right they be raised together by their parents.

But they were young, still. They could argue and debate the matter to death another day. For whatever disagreements they all had, none of them were going to go looking for war.

There would be time.

"Sounds like they haven't changed since I last saw Desjardins, Julius," Amos said, trying for comforting. "Fear mongering as usual, convinced that if you breath wrong during an inauspicious day that Apophis will come down upon us all."

Julius nodded in agreement. He opened his mouth to say something more, but it was cut off by a loud crash from above and what sounded suspiciously like a war cry. The two brothers shared looks.

"It was yours," they said in unison, before heading upstairs.

Amos chuckled under his breath, shoving matters of visions and chaos and mysterious parents to the back of his mind.

There would be time.

Amos stared stone-faced at Ruby's gravestone, and silently cursed Cleopatra's Needle to the Duat and back.

Besides him, tears streamed unabashedly down Percy's face as he clung to Amos's hand.

The eight-year-old boy laid a slightly crumpled bunch of flowers down against the black stone, six feet above the empty coffin, and Amos had to fight back a sob born of rage as he remembered just why the coffin was empty.

Out of Ruby's vision of Apophis rising, which while perfectly terrifying, was no excuse to go haring off to Cleopatra's Needle and free the goddess who had been fighting the wretched snake for millennia, Amos's world had nearly fallen down around him.

Julius's had.

He and Ruby had always managed to light each other up, and with Ruby gone. . .Amos had been reminded of a Greek philosopher's story about soulmates. A person with two heads and four arms, split into halves by the gods, and eternally seeking each other out.

And for what? A cat named Muffin, and their family scattered to the four winds.

Julius had taken his children and left the funeral service earlier that day immediately after, uncharacteristically—and very, very understandably—barely holding back from breaking down completely, much to Amos's own despair.

Since they were little, Julius had carried himself with a straight back and air of assurance in who he was.

Today? He'd slumped, not letting Carter or Sadie out of his sight. Eyes red, hands trembling, and the lines of his suit crumpled—usually unthinkable for a man like Julius Kane. It had cracked something inside Amos, to see his brother brought low like that.

He looked like he had been consigned to execution.

And maybe he had, Amos thought bitterly. The House was going to demand more of Julius yet, before they were through with this.

There were only so many magicians that could show up before Amos and Julius caught on.

They had done nothing except show up in mourning black, express condolences that may have even been genuine, but the two brothers had caught the statement made each time Carter and Sadie were asked after.

You can't keep them.

And awful as it was, it had all been merciful, some cold, calculating part of Amos whispered.

Julius was lucky not to be executed for his crimes. Deliberate contact with the gods had been outlawed since Roman times by the Chief Lector for good reason.

His punishment would be exile, probably. Barely allowed to use magic, unable to enter the House of Life—and, Amos thought with a pang, contact its magicians.

Immediate family included. No exceptions.

Julius would, eventually, lose the future battle for custody, even if it took magical interference with the case. Amos could see it now, clear as day.

Sadie being the younger, and with Julius having a job that required such travel, would be given over to the Fausts and raised in England. Carter would be left with Julius to travel the world in his job as an Egyptologist, hounded by the House of Life until the two came of age, blissfully unaware of the heritage burning through their veins.

Amos would only be able to interfere very minimally, both due to what he stood to lose if Iskandar chose to look too long into all the children the Kanes claimed as theirs, and because. . .well.

Separating Carter and Sadie, from a purely practical standpoint, was most likely for the best.

Amos let out a shuddering breath at the thought, blinked furiously at the stinging wind. Then, he gently pulled Percy away after he finished saying his final goodbyes to his aunt, and the two walked down the empty London street, guilt burning furiously in Amos's chest at his own thoughts and future inaction.

If he ever said it in the coming months out loud, Amos would never be forgiven; he'd never be trusted again, not fully. Julius would certainly accuse him of hypocrisy, asking what he would want in his position, if the House of Life were to demand one of his children.

Amos looked down at the young boy beside him with the messy black hair, already planning on how to convince Khufu to become a temporary Knicks fan for Christmas Day in three weeks to help distract Percy, and ruthlessly swallowed down that guilt until he almost choked on it.

Not to mention the thought that accompanied that guilt.

Julius would not be wrong.

That night, and every night afterward for a long time, Amos would sit in front of the statue of Thoth within Brooklyn House after Percy went to sleep.

Sometimes, he planned. For the next day, the upcoming month, any visitors to the Nome.

Sometimes, he did more research. For wards, for finding wayward parents, for Carter and Sadie's safety.

Sometimes, Amos just hoped.

Percy Jackson—or Perseus Kane, depending on who was asked around Brooklyn—didn't feel all that bad about being kicked out of school again, all things considered.

Especially when he was pretty sure that being kicked out of six schools in six years had to be some sort of world record, and when it wasn't even his fault.

Okay, some of the time, excepting that time with the cannon and the school bus.

Or the time with the catwalk over the pool, or that one weird math test and the poodle that hadn't been a poodle. . .

Fine, Percy internally grumbled, it's usually my fault.

But there were extenuating circumstances, as Uncle Amos always put it. And he never seemed to get upset with Percy for being expelled anyway. Just confused about how Percy had managed it, and sometimes sad. He always said he didn't blame Percy, but it just somehow made him feel even guiltier as he went to recover his pride with Khufu.

Who would then kick his ass in basketball anyway, but Percy still loved him. Even if he did root for the Lakers.

As it stood, Uncle Amos seemed to blame the principal for this one; they had left Lone Oak Charter School twenty minutes ago, and he was still grumbling under his breath as they took the long 'round back to Brooklyn, avoiding Manhattan completely.

For reasons he was never quite clear about with Percy, he always refused to enter that borough, even if it forced them to go through the worst city traffic in all of New England.

"Uncle Amos?" Percy asked tentatively, cutting off muttering about computers and teachers making accommodations. "Where am I going to go now?"

". . .and computers, I ask you—hmm? Ah, right," Uncle Amos said briskly as he rounded a corner with ease to cut off someone else, who swore fluently at them with enough verve to make twelve-year-old Percy jealous. "To be honest, Percy, I had already planned to pull you out before Winter Break, anyway, considering this school's lack of help for dyslexic students. I found another place that I think will work for you, and will let you start next term."

Percy sure hoped it did. He was sick of constantly being the new kid on the block, even if he had the routine down pat by now on earning a rep that wasn't lunch meat. "What's it called?"

"Yancy. Yancy Academy, they teach grades six through eight," Uncle Amos explained, not missing a beat as he ran a red light, "You'll like it, I think. They had me talking with the Latin teacher, Mrs. Sherwood, and she seemed very good at her job. Certainly happy to have someone like you in her class."

"Really? They have a whole Latin class? " Percy asked, brightening at the thought of no longer being stuck in Civics. He'd always liked Greek and Roman mythology, ever since Aunt Ruby had told him the story of Perseus when he was little and she'd still been alive.

It was one of the few clear memories he had of her, but he still felt like it had been yesterday he'd miserably asked her why his parents would name him something weird like Perseus. Since then, he had always liked the stories, and more than that, the idea that his mother had chosen to name him after one of those heroes. That she believed in him that much.

At this, something twisted in Percy's gut at the idea of the mother he never knew. Like usual.

Uncle Amos had told him about how he'd found Percy, of course, and he was impossibly grateful his mother hadn't let him be spit into the system.

Aunt Ruby and Uncle Julius had never treated him any differently from Carter or Sadie when they were little, and Percy couldn't imagine not being raised by anyone but Uncle Amos, but sometimes, Percy wanted to know his mom so bad it ached somewhere hollow.

As for his father, Percy had considerably more complicated, I-don't-know-if-I-want-him-to-be-dead-or-not-and-does-that-make-me-bad-if-I-do feelings.

Amos continued to talk, oblivious to Percy's thoughts. "From what I've seen and been told, your Latin teacher's excellent. A bit by-the-book, but loves her subject."

"Nice," Percy breathed out, before his mind happily switched tracks as they passed by a Sweet On America store. "Hey, can we stop by the grocery store on the way back? I need to buy some Jell-O for Khufu and more bacon for Philip, and Christmas is only four days away."

Sad as it probably was, the baboon and magical crocodile were Percy's closest friends, excepting Sadie and Carter. But he never really saw either these days, save for the rare phone call, and when Percy could fly to London for one of Carter and Uncle Julius's visits with Sadie.

Strangely, Uncle Amos always managed to find an excuse for not coming with him. But Percy usually forgot quickly, what with the Annual Incidents They Would Never Speak About happening like clockwork between Julius and the Fausts.

"You do realize the house will supply just about any food they want, right?" Amos said dryly, even as he switched directions for the last-minute errand.

"C'mon, Uncle!" Percy pleaded, breaking out his bonafide Big Sad Puppy Eyes Khufu had been helping with, "Please?"

"Just because it's Christmas, Percy."

Percy let a whoop, and then a cackle as a driver somehow even more aggressive than Uncle Amos nearly took the front license plate off speeding, and Uncle Amos began to swear in Egyptian.

They were both silenced in turn by the loud boom of thunder that left Percy's ears ringing.

"What was that?" Percy said flabbergasted, his eyes wide as he rolled down the window to get a better look at the sky. On the sidewalk, people pointing at something up in the sky. Percy looked up, and his jaw dropped.

Off in the distance, he could make out the silhouette of the Empire State Building, with white and purple lightning crackling around the spire. Imposing storm clouds seemed to gather around it in an ever-expanding disc, with whispy dark tendrils clawing into the bright blue sky. Percy could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end at the electricity in the air.

For one odd moment, as he stared at the building, he felt terrified right in the depths of his tiny little lizard brain. But there was something else, too, he felt a sense of almost—longing.

Like there was a part of him there, waiting in the Empire State Building.

And it was telling Percy to come and get it back right now.

A hand landed on Percy's shoulder. He blinked, and the moment melted away as he was pulled back into the car by a silent Uncle Amos. He looked up at the magician, questioning. Hoping that whatever answer he got would explain that strange feeling.

"A storm," Uncle Amos finally said, his face grim as he stared down the Empire State Building. "It's a storm, Percy."

A/N: Alright, you mad Internet people, you wanted more, you get more, LET'S DO THIS.

(I maaaaay need sleep)

For those that don't understand, I published a short thing that's in the distant future of this universe, and some people liked it, so I of course pound out an update too late at night. This was originally going to be a one-shot, but then it exploded, so I decided to go with the flow. A lot happens in TKC, I only cover The Red Pyramid in this one, and Amos decided he has a lot to say. Now it's a slightly weird prequel full of dramatic irony and too many action scenes I can't write and oblivious magicians who can't put two and two together.

And yes, Hold Tight and Pretend It's a Plan is getting an update in a few days, to those of you who read that and haven't strangled me yet for not updating in four months. Currently going through Editing Round #593, because it's a weird chapter that hates my guts, but it's very close to happening.

If you've stuck with me through this rambling A/N, as always, thank you so much, and feel free to tell me what you think if you wish!

(I'm about to go sleep for fourteen hours somewhere, don't mind me)