The Eclipse, Percy Jackson

Chapter 13

We stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.

Underneath, stencilled 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.

Perseus turned to us. “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!”

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

He 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.

Annabeth put her hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry, Percy. You're 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 mom. No problem.”

“Yeah we will. Plus we can always figure out a Plan B on the way. Just in case.”

He looked at the three of us, and for once I couldn't read his emotions confidently. Though I think he was grateful.
He slipped 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 grey. 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 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-coloured 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, then looked at him in bewilderment that couldn’t be right. On closer inspection I saw it read Charon. I was going to take charge as none of the others had seen the difference yet.
Then I heard, "Your name is Chiron?"

Way to ruin my plan before I’d even started it, Perseus.

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 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," Perseus said.

I thought he was going to say, ‘no need to call me sir.’
I might’ve read Harry Potter one too many times.

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,” he said.

“Well done.” He sat back. “I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?”