𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 (Annabeth X Malereader)

[17] Annabeth tames Cerebus

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. I turned to my friends.

"Okay. You remember the plan." I whispered.

"The plan," Grover gulped.

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

"Don't think negative." I chided.

"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 pocket, four milky spheres sparkling like the sea. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong.

Percy looked at me, grinning.

"Let's whup some Underworld butt."

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 tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned tohis lapell under a silver name tag.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy asked in bewilderment. 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?" He drawled.

"N-no." Percy stuttered.

"Sir," The guard added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said. The guard 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." Percy repeated.

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon," Percy 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?" His question caught in my stomach like a punch to the gut. I looked at Annabeth for support.

"We want to go the Underworld," she said. Charon's mouth twitched.

"Well, that's refreshing." He muttered.

"It is?" she asked.

"Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No 'There must be a mistake, Mr. Charon.'" He looked us over. "How did you die, then?"

"We drowned, sir." I stated, stepping forward slightly.

"In . . . the bathtub." Percy added hastily. I mentally facepalmed. Gods, he was horrible at lying.