LOVE THE WAY YOU LIE . . . hoo

X.

MIA FELT LIKE she was hovering in the place between life and death, and she wasn't sure which side she wanted to be on.

Join me, Amelia, her father's voice told her. Join me in death.

Well then. Mia knew which side she wanted to be on.

The only problem is how she was going to get to the life side. It was harder than it looked, okay?

Every inch of her body hurt — her neck most of all, because, well, duh. But she had a pain in her shoulder that she constantly felt, because she'd never really gotten over the phantom pain of being stabbed by a poison tipped knife by a person that she could've called a friend, under different circumstances.

And there was a stabbing pain in her head. Stabbing, like a knife had been embedded into her head. Like Sophia had cursed her. She probably would've, just to tell her because she couldn't appear in ghost form right now: it's your fault that you got put down here, let me just make it harder for you to survive.

Apparently, the thought of her sister cursing her was enough to let Mia to go sleep — or maybe to die, right now she couldn't really tell the difference.

But then she woke up to a roar, and she bolted upright, her hand reaching for her necklace. But it wasn't there. She realized that she didn't feel any pain anymore — not around her neck, or in her shoulder, though she could still feel the slight pounding of her head.

Percy was next to her, looking around wildly. "What? What — where — what?"

"It's okay." Annabeth's voice appeared.

Mia looked at their surroundings. They had been lying in a giant's bed with a skeleton cat curled up on her. "That noise . . ." she muttered, "where are we?"

"How much do you remember?" Annabeth asked.

Mia felt her lips pull into a frown as she examined herself. All her wounds had vanished, as far as she could see. Except for her tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, she looked as if she'd never fallen into Tartarus. But she really needed a shower. And, boy, did Percy need a shower, though he seemed fine. He looked fine, at least.

"I — the demon grandmothers," Percy reported. "And then . . . not much."

"Father kept taunting me to join him in death," Mia rubbed her eyes. "But I'm alive, aren't I? If I was a ghost, I would look way prettier and cleaner than I do now."

A giant suddenly was looming over the bed, and her pulse sped up. "There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others — my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Annabeth's eyes flashed with worry. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

The giant's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them three leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Mia weirdly. She didn't understand any of what was going on, but she'd ask later.

"The Prophecy of Eight," Annabeth said, her thinking face on.

Percy had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering his pack, about to help Mia down. He frowned at Annabeth. "What about it?"

Annabeth grabbed the giant's hand, startling him. His brow furrowed.

"You have to come with us," she pleaded. "The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line means us — demigods, a Titan, a giant. We need you to close the Doors!"