𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒍 - 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒚 𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒐𝒄

‧⁺˚*･༓𝑺𝑰𝑿𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑵༓･*˚⁺‧

The four 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 who were all now functioning without assistance. "Okay. You remember the plan." 

"The plan," Grover gulped. 

"Yeah. I love the plan."Phoenix said sarcastically, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?" 

"Don't think negatively, Sunshine. It's not good for the sunshine inside of you." He said.

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

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 in case something went wrong. 

Phoenix put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Perce. You're right, we'll make it. 

"It'll be fine," Annabeth nodded giving Grover a nudge.

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

Percy looked at them and felt really grateful. Only a few minutes before, he'd almost gotten them stretched to death on deluxe water beds, and now they were trying to be brave for his sake, trying to make him feel better.

He slipped the pearls back into his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt." 

They 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 Phoenix's eye, she could see them all just fine, but if she focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking...transparent. She 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 shades 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. Percy couldn't see anything in his glasses except his own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a python's, 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."

"Sir," he added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said.

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 said.

"Well done." He sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horseman. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?"