GODS AND MONSTERS , pjo

18 , we go to hell

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
WE GO TO HELL

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 the group. "Okay. You remember the plan."

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

"We had a plan" I asked, completely oblivious.

Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

"Don't think negative."

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

I don't remember the plan.

Annabeth put her hand on Percy's 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."

I know Annabeth had looked towards me to give Percy more reassurance, but I was too focused trying to remember what plan we had.

To be fair only a few minutes before, I'd almost gotten stretched to death on a deluxe water bed, and for the most part of this walk I had been more Dachses on the splitting pain in my back.

Percy's voice brought me back to the conversation "Let's whip 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. Which gave me a bad feeling.

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 to his lapel under a silver name tag.

I read the name tag, but I couldn't read it. I don't know if I've mentioned yet, but I have dyslexia.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy said.

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," Percy said.

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."