a story as endless as the ocean . pjo / allie jackson

1.7 i cry over a cute dog

1.7 I Will Be Filing a Lawsuit and a Complaint With the Better Business Bureau if Hades Doesn't Play With Cerberus More Often

We 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.

I turned to my friends. "Okay. You remember the plan?"

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

"That's right Grover," Luke said to him encouragingly. "We're about to enter the Land of the Dead, but you just keep thinking positively. Okay, dude?"

"Gotcha," Grover swallowed. He looked like he was about to be sick, and I didn't feel much better than he looked.

"Okay," I exhaled anxiously, dusted off my skirt as if it made any sort of difference, pushed open the door, and walked inside. The boys followed, tension radiating from all of us.

We walked inside the DOA lobby.

Music played softly on hidden speakers. It sounded suspiciously like the Pirates of the Caribbean themes, but I didn't mention that. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cacti 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 my eye, I could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking... transparent. I could see right through their bodies. It made me shiver in discomfort.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so we 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. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

"So," Luke shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he sauntered up to, what was his name? I used to always mix it up with Chiron in class. Charon? I think it's Charon, who was lounging at the security desk. "Is this where you go to die?"

Charon closed his newspaper and leaned over the desk to see us better. "Pretty much. How'd you guys kick the bucket?"

"Oh, you know, car crash," Luke shrugged. "Actually, I'm fairly sure this is just a really detailed dream. Death is supposed to be all pearly gates and harps, right?"

"That's for Christians, kid," Charon snorted. "Well, if you can pay for passage, I'll ferry you guys over to the Underworld on the next trip."

"And if we can't?" I spoke for the first time, feeling a shiver go up my spine at his answering grin. An immortal looking so pleased could only mean bad things for everyone else in existence.

"Nothing," Charon said.

"For how long?"

"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous."

"Oh," my voice was small. Grover gulped, shifting behind me.

"Well, lucky for us, we have money," Luke clapped his hands together and pulled out a few drachmae. Charon's eyes lit up greedily.

"Drachma! I haven't seen these in ages!" He scooped them to examine them, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He got out from behind the desk, and leaned forward toward us to take a sniff. I leaned away automatically, Luke's hand going for his hidden sword. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling."