The Twins Of Poseidon

I Want A Pet Rottweiler

Throughout the very short walk to wherever we were going, Annabeth tried apologizing multiple times but I just ignored her, not the time, we have a world to save, besides we had to decide our plan. 

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 the others. "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." Percy told her. 

"Right," she 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 the two of us in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. 

Annabeth put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Alex, Percy. You're both right, we'll make it. It'll be fine." She gave Grover a nudge. 

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

I didn't know what to think, after all I still trusted and thought of Grover as one of my best friends and I was grateful for him, but I didn't know what to think of Annabeth anymore. 

Percy put the pearls back in his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt." 

We 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 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. 

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. 

I read the name tag: Charon, hey that's close to- "Your name is Chiron?" Percy said. 

He leaned across the desk. I couldn't see anything in his glasses except my own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a pythons, 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 shakily said. 

"Sir," he added smoothly. 

"Sir," 

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." Percy repeated. 

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon." 

"Mr. Charon," Percy said. 

"Well done." Charon sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?" His question caught in my stomach like a fastball. I looked at Annabeth for support.