tartarus and back ⇩

14. Hi ho, hi ho. Off to the Underworld we go!

If I'm being honest, I was terrified. This quest had changed me a lot, for the better. I was more comfortable with other people, I gained a little confidence, and I even overcame a couple fears.

Not this fear, though. I'd heard countless stories of the Underworld, none of them good, and all of them terrifying.

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.

Percy 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?"

"One drachma the plan doesn't work." I said.

"Don't think negative."

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

Percy pulled out the three milky pearls he'd been given.

"I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine." Annabeth said.

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."

"And plus, the prophecy says we find what was stolen and see it safely returned." I decided not to mention that we lose something, get betrayed, and fail to save what mattered most.

"Let's whup some Underworld butt." Percy said.

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 tortoise shell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy asked. I looked at the name tag, which had scrambled letters, but no I.

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."

"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."

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon," We chanted together.