Book 1 - The Constriction in Breathing Air

Chapter 11

Charon left them on the black volcanic sand shoreline, grumbling about weird kids trying to give him heart attacks despite not having a heart to be attacked. Annabeth had yet to let off the death grip on Percy's arm, her face pale, and Grover's hand was still tangled in the back of Percy's jacket like he was a naughty kitten. He looked like he had died on their trip across the water.

Honestly, Percy thought fondly, try to go swimming once and suddenly nobody trusts you.

They ushered him along the well-worn path, only easing their grips when the water disappeared from view behind them.

"That was..." Grover breathed.

"The worst part of the trip so far," Annabeth finished grimly.

"I think it was fine," Percy said cheerfully, and they both looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I liked the water."

A short, astonished laugh made its way out of Annabeth's mouth, sounding like a choked cry. Grover looked ready to keel over.

"Sure, Percy," Grover bleated. "That's great. We're never doing that again."

"Okay," Percy agreed easily. He turned to examine the entrance to the Underworld.

Not what he was expecting, to be honest. It looked like a cross between airport security and the Jersey Turnpike.

There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said, You Are Now Entering Erebus.

Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were toll booths manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon, but they smelled nothing like him.

The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but Percy couldn't see where it was coming from. The three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades' door, was nowhere to be seen.

The dead queued up in three lines, two marked Attendant On Duty and one marked EZ Death. The latter line was moving right along. The other two were crawling.

"What do you figure?" Percy asked Annabeth.

"The fast line must go straight to the Asphodel Fields," she said. "No contest. They don't want to risk judgement from the court, because it might go against them."

"I'm not familiar with the Underworld workings...there's a court for dead people?"

"Yeah. Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare—people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward—the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Asphodel Fields."

"And do what?"

Grover picked up from there. "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever."

"Fun," Percy said, then, "harsh."

"Not as harsh as that," Grover muttered. "Look."

A couple of black-robed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him at the security desk. The face of the dead man looked vaguely familiar.

"He's that preacher who made the news, remember?" Grover asked.

"Oh, yeah. The one who'd raised millions of dollars for orphanages and then got caught spending money on stuff for his mansion, right?"

"Right," Grover confirmed. "He died in a police chase. His Lamborghini went off a cliff."

"So...punishment?"