Sunburn- phoebus apollo

-xvii. Annabeth plays fetch with a three-headed dog

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. 

Percy turned to his friends. "Okay. You remember the plan."

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

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

"We probably die," Rhea said meekly. 

"Don't think negative," Percy said, giving Rhea a small glare. 

"Right," Annabeth said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative."

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup plan in case something went wrong. 

Annabeth put her hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

Annabeth then proceeded to nudge Rhea and Grover. 

"Oh right," He chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save you and Rhea's mom. No problem."

"Yeah," Rhea muttered. "What could go wrong?"

Percy nodded, slipping the pearls back in his pocket. "Let's whip some Underworld butt." 

They walked inside the DOA lobby.

Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencils 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 Rhea's eye, she could see them all just fine, but if she focused on any of them in particular, they started looking.... transparent. Rhea 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 shares and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Percy read the name tag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"

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

"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."

"Sir," he added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said.

Rhea held back a laugh, thinking of the scene in Harry Potter where sassy Harry had said "No need to call me sir, professor."

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." 

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon." Percy repeated.