JAWBREAKER

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚

Warren 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. "Okay. You guys remember the plan?"

"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."

"Totally solid plan," Warren nodded.

Just feet from the entrance to the Underworld, she was more nervous than ever. She wasn't afraid of getting trapped there, or even getting struck down by Hades. Warren was afraid because she was out of time. No one knew the truth about her terrible dreams, and she didn't know how to fix it.

All she could do now was stand by Percy's side as they descended into the unknown, and die protecting him if she had to. If the voice in the pit wanted him, it would have to go through her first.

"What happens if the plan doesn't work?" Annabeth asked.

"Don't think negative," Percy frowned.

"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 him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong.

Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

"Piece of cake," Warren nodded. 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."

Percy looked back at them gratefully. He slipped the pearls back in his pocket.

"Let's whup some Underworld butt."

"Now you're speaking my language, Jackson," Warren grinned.

And with that, 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 her eye, Warren 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 shaved bleached-blond hair. He wore stylish tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.