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    Summary

    The air reeked. Nico wrinkled his nose as the sourness grew stronger. It coated the back of his throat, sparking the slightest headache in his temples.

    He’d been following the trail for what felt like hours. He’d first noticed it on a trip to London–something to do with an upset ghost of a former ruler. Honestly, Nico hadn’t paid much mind when Hades proposed the mission. They both knew that it was just an excuse to get Nico out of the house.

    Then he smelt it.

    It wasn’t so bad a few miles back, like someone had forgotten to wash their gym clothes for a few weeks. If he hadn’t recognized it he wouldn't have paid any mind, but Nico knew that acrid sweetness. It emanated softly from Leo and Frank: the stench of cheated death.

    For it to be this strong… Nico didn’t even want to think about it.

     

    OR

     

    Nico accidentally stumbles upon Voldemort's homeless congregation of evil. They talk. Voldemort mistakes Nico for Death.

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