Annabeth Chase and the Lightning Thief

Chapter 29 - We meet a shifty waterbed dealer

"Where is he?" I snapped, pacing agitatedly along the shoreline. "He's been down there for ages!"

"He can breathe underwater," Grover said placidly. He didn't even seem the slightest bit concerned. He was sitting down calmly as if his best friend daily went for an underwater walk.

I groaned and kept pacing. We had so little time and it couldn't be wasted on Percy paying a social call or whatever he was doing.

"Hey," he said suddenly.

I whirled around, seeing him standing there, directly behind me. He looked fine, not a scratch on him and perfectly dry. His hand was clenched in a fist, as if he was holding something precious.

"Where were you?" I demanded, my worry coming out as anger. "What took you so long?"

"I met a Neried," he said simply, like that was perfectly normal.

Quickly, he told Grover and I about his chat with the Nereid, about Poseidon's "neglect" and the Nereid's warning about the trickiness of Hades. He showed us the gift she gave him, three perfect white pearls that would help us escape the Underworld.

I grimaced when I saw them. "No gift comes without a price."

"They were free."

"No," I shook my head. " 'There is no such thing as free lunch'. That's an Ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait."

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Using the Underworld address slip Percy had taken from the lair of Medusa, we started to search for the entrance to Hades's realm. We had to be cautious though as Percy's face was becoming increasingly well known. We could be landed in juvenile detention if the cops caught us.

Everyone we met didn't have a clue what the DOA Recording Studios was though. It wasn't in the phone book. It was as if it had been made up to trick us.

As we passed an appliance store, Percy froze outside of it, staring at one of the TVs on display. It was an interview of a fat, old, bald man who was sweating up a storm in his greasy singlet. Man, he was revolting. Then I saw his name displayed below: Gabe Ugliano. So this was Percy's infamous step-dad. Holy Hera, he hadn't been kidding when he said he was horrible. I could tell by just looking at him.

He was talking to Barbara Walters, a young blonde girl sitting beside him, holding his hand as fake tears slid down his pudgy cheeks. They were sitting at a pool table, as if he couldn't even bear to move away from it for a moment, despite how distressed he obviously was.

"Honestly, Ms Walters," he was saying, "if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife . . . my Camaro . . . I - I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."

"There you have it, America," Barbara Walters intoned, turning dramatically to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you again, the last known photo of this troubled fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver."

An image of the three of us with Ares came up, standing outside of the diner. I frowned at myself. Man, I looked horrible. Then I shrugged. I probably still did.

"Who are the other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."

"C'mon," Grover said, looking at Percy. He managed to haul the Son of Poseidon away before he could go all demigod style on the TVs.

It was getting dark, and let me tell you, you didn't want to be in the streets of Los Angeles when it got dark. Shifty characters were coming out to play. Dogs were roaming, fights were breaking out and cats screeching.