❦𝓕𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓒𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓮❦ - 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓬𝔂 𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷

𝒳𝒳𝐼. 𝒟𝒪𝒜 𝑅𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝑜𝓈

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.

Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece. A lot like how Happy looked when Zoe's dad first hired him except... this guy was built.

Percy turned to Grover, Zoe, and Annabeth. "Okay. You remember the plan."

"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."

Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

"Don't think negative."

"Right," Zoe said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and we shouldn't think negatively."

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica.

Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder, glaring at Zoe. "We're sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

She gave Grover and Zoe a nudge.

"Oh, right!" he chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

"Yeah, Perc. We've got this. We're the dream team." Zoe gave him a smile that felt more like a grimace (it looked more like a grimace too).

Percy slipped the pearls back in his pocket. "Let's kick some Underworld ass."

They walked inside the DOA lobby.

Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe could see them all just fine, but if she focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking... transparent. She could see right through their bodies.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so they had to look up at him.

He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. Zoe recognized it as a suit her dad had worn before, although his suit had been black, like the rose that was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag. Who Zoe assumed was Charon, wore a white version of the familiar outfit.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy asked stupidly.

Zoe resisted the very strong urge to smack her hand against her forehead. Charon was the person who fared the dead to the Underworld. Percy should know this. Zoe's pretty sure she was the one to teach it to him.

He leaned across the desk. Zoe couldn't see anything in his glasses except her own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a python's, right before it eats you.

"What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent-British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no." Percy stuttered.

"Sir," he added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy repeated.

He pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."