Ever envision a meeting between Nico di Angelo and Sadie Kane? I did too. This is what I imagined how their meeting would be like!

DISCLAIMER: THE WORLD OF PERCY JACKSON AND THE KANE CHRONICLES BELONGS TO RICK RIORDAN, NOT ME OKAY?

NICO

Ever since I ran into that crazy knife-nut catlady during one of my shadow-travelling training sessions with Mrs. O'Leary, I strayed away Brooklyn as much as I could.

However, I've been in all sorts of places and I have to admit - Brooklyn has the best clothing store that fits my taste and pocket money.

See, I've been wearing the same aviator jacket for almost three years now and it's been getting sort of frayed. I guess it's due to the countless times I slept in the streets, fought monsters that took every opportunity to claw/burn/crush/skewer/generally harm me and the times I was stupid enough to use the clunker of a laundry machine in my father's palace.

Now it was autumn, which brought jacket weather to the earth and my wicked step-mom Persephone to the Underworld. I was being completely serious when I called Persephone my evil step-mom. Just this morning, I stepped into the throne room and she started screeching at me.

"What is that?" she shrilled.

Perplexed, I asked, "What is what?"

Persephone let out a dramatic sight. "Never mind, I'll fix the problem," she stated, exasperated.

With a wave of her hand, my jacket turned into a robe weaved out of violet aromatic flowers.

"Dies immortales!" I exclaimed, "What the Hades did you do to my jacket?" I scrutinized my flowery right sleeve. "Are these violets?"

"They're pansies," Persephone corrected in a condescending tone, "Consider this an early birthday gift." She smiled sweetly in the appreciate-it-or-I'll-turn-YOU-into-a-pansy way.

Considering that Persephone did turn me into flower before, I forced out a stiff "Thanks" and stormed out of the throne room.

Then I stuffed the floral robe deep inside of my backpack, slipped through the nearest shadowy wall and after making a huge travel decision, I stepped onto the streets of Brooklyn.

Right in front of me was a boutique within a brick building, the words Midnight Apparel emblazoned in black on the giant windows. Mannequins modeling darkly colored attire and leather jackets were showcased behind the glass. After a quick scan of my surroundings, just in case the catlady happened to shop here, I entered the small store.

Because of Midnight Apparel's obscure location and the fact that it was still morning, there wasn't many people in the store. Just how I like it.

I strode straight to the jacket section, which was located in the back of the store near the shoe section.

It seemed that chains were in style because the jacket section was filled with a whole lot of leather and metal. While I perused the racks for another black coat minus chains, I noticed from the corners of my eyes that a girl at the shoe section seemed to be staring at me.

I glanced up and the girl conspicuously dipped her head. As subtlety as I could, I tried to get a good look at my apparent starer. She looked like one of those teenaged rebel types. Her streaked caramel hair masked her lowered face as she tried on a pair of combat boots. Was it me or was she blushing? Either way, it was obvious that she was avoiding my gaze.

With a shrug, I returned to my search for a jacket my size. However, I was wary of the girl. For all I knew she was a monster disguised as a teenager with a penchant for relatively unknown clothing shops that sell nothing lighter than navy blue. Or maybe she thought I was cute or something. Both theories meant a scary situation.

Soon she was staring at me again. Her was so indiscreet way that it was starting to creep me out a little.

I put down the jacket I was currently considering and scowled at her. I was alarmed to see that the girl seemed to be around my age, meaning she probably shouldn't be shopping here.

"Is there a problem?" I inquired.

The girl's eyes widened. "I don't know what you're blathering about." She had a British accent. That was strange.

My wariness increased. Perhaps I was being paranoid but I began to prepare myself for a possible monster situation. Really, how many leery yet pretty British girls at thirteen-ish years old do you encounter at the only place where you buy clothes? On top of that you're the son of one of the most powerful gods and you're the only half-blood who's aware of the existence of two demigod sanctuaries. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there was someone out there to get me.

I decided not to jump to conclusions so quickly. "You were staring at me," I told her, "So, do you need something?"

"No. Nothing at all," replied the girl, frowning. With hesitation, she continued. "Actually, I was staring because you... remind me of someone I know."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," I said. It was true - others have told me that I reminded them of my sister or father. Of course this couldn't be the case for right now. There was no way that this stranger personally knew about my dead older sister or the ancient god of the dead.

"Also, if don't mind me asking, do you always carry a sword around?" the girl questioned.

Startled, I patted my dark sword of Stygian iron, which was sheathed on my side. My scowl deepened. Typically, the Mist made mortals believe that I had a black baseball bat or a walking cane. Because of my sword, there have been many times where old ladies called me a delinquent or asked to borrow my cane because "I'm not using it and I'm surely too young to need one".

Clearly, there was something up with that girl. However, when she asked, she sounded genuinely curious and naive. Perhaps she was a fellow half-blood. On the other hand, due to Percy's deal with the Olympians, at her age she should be claimed by now. Most likely she was one of those rare mortals who could see through the Mist.

"Yes I do," I responded, "I'm a... weapons enthusiast."

"Really?" The girl was unconvinced. Her blue eyes seemed to pierce through my skull. I had an uncomfortable feeling that maybe this girl knew more that I suspected.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before the girl spoke again, this time in a low voice. "You know, mate, you can tell me if you're from another Nome."

I stared at the girl, confused out of my mind. "Gnome?"

The girl hastily checked if there was anyone within earshot. "You can stop pretending now," she whispered, "FYI, you have an aura so strong it's rather sickening. It's quite impossible to dismiss you as not one of us. In fact, I'm from the Twenty-First Nome."

"Um, do you mean 21st century?" I asked feebly. What in the world was this girl talking about? And did she just insult me?

She groaned and grumbled to herself, "I don't care what Carter told me about keeping my mouth shut to strangers. There's no doubt, seeing that you keep a bloody sword and you look almost exactly like... ugh, never mind." She put down the boots she just tried on and held her hand out. "Sadie Kane. Scribe of Brooklyn House, which is one of the best Nomes out there I might add."

Okay, maybe she was not a monster. Maybe she was simply insane. I gingerly shook her hand. "Nico di Angelo."

Looking back, it probably wasn't a good idea to tell my full name to someone I just met. Especially to a girl who seemed to have an obsession with gnomes.

The girl beamed. "I knew you were going to admit you're a magician. Say, is di Angelo Italian? Do you happen to be from the Nome in Italy?"

I did not answer her question because my attention was caught by the first sentence. "Did you just call me a magician?"

Sadie opened her mouth in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're not a magician, aren't you?" she demanded.

Even with my experience with terrifying monsters and even more terrifying gods, I still managed to feel intimidated by this thirteen-ish year old girl's glare.

"No," I said slowly, "I'm a weapons enthusiast."

"Oh." Sadie was visibly disappointed.

I felt guilty for getting this girl's hopes up, although I wasn't sure what exactly were her hopes.

"So... you're a magician, right?" I asked, trying to sound interested.

"Yeah," Sadie answered dully, "And you're not. And I bet you think I'm mental."

I hesitated. "Actually, I bet you do awesome magic tricks."

Sadie stared at me, her face gradually brightening. "As a matter of fact, I can."

"On that case, Sadie Kane," I said with a slight bow, "Care to show me some magic tricks?"

Sadie smiled and returned my bow. "I suppose I can. But right now, I'm finding a good replacement to my favourite combat boots." She gestured to the extremely tattered boots she was wearing.

I whistled. "Wow. Did those boots just fight in a huge battle or something?"

"You have no idea," Sadie said dryly, "Anyway, the coat you were just holding is a nice one."

I held up the jacket I put down before talking to Sadie. I had to admit, I liked it.

"You know, I think I'll buy it," I said. Yep, this jacket was way better than that pansy robe. For one thing, it was in my favourite shade - black. Honestly, I wasn't confident that I could look good in violet or floral or violet floral.

"So, if you do want to see me perform some magic, wait for me outside the store," Sadie instructed. Her smile suddenly seemed crooked, as if she was planning something mischievous.

"Sure thing," I replied and headed to the cash register with my new jacket.

Even though I've seen a magic show from the Hecate kids and I doubted Sadie could do any better, I was looking forward to seeing her tricks. Mostly, I wanted to see what kind of person Sadie Kane was.

My experience with mortals who could see through the Mist suggested that they tended to end up doing something pretty darn amazing. For example, there was Sally Jackson, caring mother of the most powerful demigod around, and Rachel Dare, the resident Oracle of Camp Half-Blood. So even though Sadie Kane was apparently a magician fascinated with gnomes, very likely she'd be somehow important to the "mythological" world.

Or become like Luke Castellan's mother and go delirious, but I was trying to stay positive here.

Hope you enjoyed reading this! I'll be updating this real soon continuing the story with Sadie's point of view

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