LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE . . . hoo

II.

WHEN THEY REACHED the ledge, Mia was sure she'd signed their death warrants.

The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian crevasse, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces.

Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn't left Mia's bones, but now her face felt raw and sunburned. Every breath took more effort, as if her chest was filled with Styrofoam peanuts. The cuts on her hands bled more rather than less.

Assuming they could make it down to the fiery river, which she doubted, her plan seemed certifiably insane.

"Uh . . ." Percy examined the cliff. He pointed to a tiny fissure running diagonally from the edge to the bottom. "We can try that ledge there. Might be able to climb down."

He didn't say they'd be crazy to try. He managed to sound hopeful. Mia was grateful for that, but she also worried that she was leading him and Annabeth to their dooms.

Wouldn't be the first time, a voice in her head said. Shut up, she told herself.

Of course if they stayed here, they would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on their arms from exposure to the Tartarus air. The whole environment was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone.

Percy went first, then Mia then Annabeth. The ledge was barely wide enough to allow a toehold. Their hands clawed for any crack in the glassy rock. Mia had ripped off part of the sleeves of her hoodie ( man, she really should've put that on earlier, but it was sadly wet from the Cocytus ) and used the cloth to wrap her bloody palms, but her fingers were still slippery and weak.

A few steps below her, Percy grunted as he reached for another handhold. "So . . . what is this fire river called?"

"The Phlegethon," she said. "You should concentrate on going down."

"The Phlegethon?" He shinnied along the ledge. They'd made it roughly a third of the way down the cliff — still high enough up to die if they fell. "Sounds like a marathon for hawking spitballs."

"Please don't make us laugh," Annabeth said.

"Just trying to keep things light."

"Thanks," she grunted, nearly missing the ledge with her bad foot. "I'll have a smile on my face as I plummet to my death."

Mia nearly snorted. She loved them.

They kept going, one step at a time. Mia's eyes stung with tears from the heat. Her arms trembled. But to her amazement, they finally made it to the bottom of the cliff.

Annabeth had stumbled when they'd gotten to the ground, and Percy caught her. Red boils had erupted on their faces, so they looked like smallpox victims.

Mia's own vision was blurry. Her throat felt blistered, and her stomach was clenched tighter than a fist.

We have to hurry, she thought.

"Just to the river," she told them, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "We can do this."

They staggered over slick glass ledges, around massive boulders, avoiding stalagmites that would've impaled them with any slip of the foot. Their tattered clothes steamed from the heat of the river, but they kept going until they crumpled to their knees at the banks of the Phlegethon.

"We have to drink," Mia said.

Percy swayed, his eyes half-closed. It took him a three-count to respond. "Uh . . . drink fire?"