CHAPTER TWELVE
( dead on arrival )

     IT TOOK LESS than I expected to find DOA, since Annabeth threw me into the fire by saying I could lead us because I lived here and probably still remembered the names of the streets. Luckily, after a few minutes, 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 back to face us. "Okay. You remember the plan."

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

     Annabeth's eyebrows were knitted in concern, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

     "Don't think negative."

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

     I remembered the pearls that the Nereid had given Percy back at the beach, and I tried to hope everything went smoothly so we wouldn't have to use them. We were already so close to our finish line and had gone through a lot of setbacks to get here, so the least the universe could do was help us out now. But when has a half-blood ever received that much help?

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

     "Yeah," I agreed, trying to hide my own nervousness. "Considering what we went through, this should be a piece of cake."

     Annabeth 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 lifted his head, confident. "Let's whoop some Underworld butt."

     We walked inside the DOA lobby. Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray and there were pencil cactuses growing in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. It looked like the waiting room of the dentist's office. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. But the strange thing was that nobody moved, talked, or flicked through magazines. I could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them specifically, 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 dark-hued 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.

     We had to maintain a low profile and easily blend in, but when I saw Percy's eyes focus on the man's name tag, I immediately knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Your name is Chiron?"

     The security guard leaned across the desk.His glasses were dark enough to not see anything behind them besides one's own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like an evil python, right before it eats you.

     "What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent, similar to my mom's, 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," Percy repeated.

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

     The question seemed to faze him. He turned back to Annabeth for support.

     "We want to go to the Underworld," she said.

     Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that's refreshing."

     "It is?" she asked.

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

     "Oh," Grover took over. "Um. . .drowned. . . in the bathtub."

     "All four of you?"

     We nodded.

     "Big bathtub." Charon looked mildly impressed. "I don't suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children. . .alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

     "Oh, but we have coins." Percy set four golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash he found in Crusty's office desk.

     "Well, now. . ." Charon moistened his lips in interest. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in. . ."

     His fingers hovered greedily over the coins. We were so close, I was already celebrating in my head. Then Charon lifted his head and stared ahead at Percy like he might burn a hole in his forehead.

     "Here now," he said. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lad?"

     "No," Percy shook his head. "I'm dead."

     Charon leaned forward and took a sniff. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling."

     "We have to get to the Underworld," Percy insisted.

     Charon made a growling sound deep in his throat. Immediately, all the people in the waiting room got up and started pacing, agitated. They lighted cigarettes, ran hands through their hair, or checked their wrist watches anxiously.

     "Leave while you can," Charon told us. "I'll just take these and forget I saw you."

     He started to go for the coins, but Percy snatched them back. "No service, no tip."

     Charon growled again – a deep, blood-chilling sound. The spirits of the dead started pounding on the elevator doors.

     "It's a shame, too," Percy sighed. "We had more to offer."

     He held up the entire bag from Crusty's stash for Charon to see. He took out a fistful of drachmas and let the coins spill through his fingers, adding more temptation.

     Charon's growl changed into something more like a lion's purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh. . .just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"

     "A lot," Percy said. "I bet Hades doesn't pay you well enough for such hard work."

     "Oh, you don't know the half of it. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free'. I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?"

     "You deserve better," he agreed. "A little appreciation. Respect. Good pay."

     With each word, Percy placed another gold coin on the counter. Charon glanced down at his silk Italian jacket, as if imagining himself in something even better. "I must say, lad, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

     "I could mention a pay raise while I'm talking to Hades."

     He sighed. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you three and be off." He stood, scooped up our money, and said, "Come along."

     We pushed through the crowd of the waiting spirits, who started grabbing at our clothes like the wind, their voices whispering incoherent words. Charon shoved them out of the way, as if they disgusted him, grumbling, "Freeloaders."

     He escorted us into the elevator, which was already crowded with other souls, each one holding a green boarding pass. Charon grabbed two spirits who were trying to get on with us and pushed them back into the lobby.

     "Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone," he announced to the waiting room. "And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"

     He closed the doors. He put a key card into a slot in the elevator panel and we started to descend, down into the Land of the Dead.

     "What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?" Annabeth asked.

     "Nothing," Charon said.

     "For how long?"

     "Forever, or until I'm feeling generous."

     "Oh," she said. "That's. . .fair."

     Charon raised an eyebrow. "Whoever said death was fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn. You'll die soon enough, where you're going."

     "We'll get out alive," Percy told him. That excited a laugh out of Charon.

     We weren't going down any more, but forward. I wanted to ignore the thought of my mom going through the same process as we were, all those years ago. My face hardened as I tried to think of something else, when I suddenly felt a hand slip into mine. When I turned to see who it was, Annabeth flashed me a comforting smile as if she knew what I was thinking.

     The air turned misty. Spirits around me started changing shape; their modern clothes flickered, turning into gray hooded robes. The floor of the elevator began swaying. In a blink of an eye, Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced by a long black robe. His tortoise shell glasses were replaced by empty sockets where his eyes should've been – totally dark, full of night and death.

     He made me so nervous that I decided to focus on something else, from the floor to the spirits with us, but I felt his eyes — or his eye sockets — staring at the side of my head.

     "What?" I managed to croak out.

     "You look familiar to me," Charon spoke. "Have you died before?"

     I shook my head. I was not expecting that question at all.  "How can I answer that?"

     He huffed a breath that might've resembled a laugh, but didn't say anything else after that. His question had ignited my own thoughts, and the only logical answer I could think of was the slight resemblance between my mother and I.

     The flesh of his face was becoming transparent, like the souls back in the lobby, and I was able to see straight through to his skull. That sight and the swaying floor made me feel nauseous.

     Grover said, "I think I'm getting seasick."

     The elevator wasn't an elevator any more. We were standing on a wooden barge. Charon was poling us across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish and other things that probably shouldn't be there – plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges.

     "The River Styx," Annabeth murmured. "It's so. . ."

     "Polluted," Charon finished for her. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across – hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."

     Mist curled off the filthy water. Above us, almost lost in the poor-lit roof, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the shore glimmered with a greenish light, almost the color of poison. The more we advanced into the land and stood in the same place as dead people, I felt myself growing ill. Annabeth was still grasping my hand, and I felt her squeeze it several times as if to check I was still there. I didn't blame her – she wanted reassurance that somebody else was alive on this boat.

     The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Ragged rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about fifty meters up to the base of a high stone wall. The wall marched off in either direction as far as we could see, like some sort of border. A howl came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones.

     "Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

     The bottom of the boat slid onto the black sand. The dead began to disembark automatically. I was able to see a woman holding a little girl's hand crossing through the black sand. An old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm were not that far behind. Shuffling silently along in his gray robe, was a boy not much older than I was.

     Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, mate, but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise."

     He counted our golden coins into his pouch, then took up his pole. He warbled something that sounded like a Barry Manilow song as he pushed the empty barge back across the river.

     We followed the spirits up a well-worn path. The entrance to the Underworld was nothing like I expected. It looked like a combination between airport security and Interstate 5. There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said: YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS.

     Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector mounted with security cameras. Beyond this were toll booths manned by black-robed ghouls. The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but it wasn't visible enough to see where it was coming from. The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked: ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and one marked: EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were full.

     "What do you figure?" Percy asked Annabeth.

     "The fast line must go straight to Asphodel," she said. "No contest. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

     "There's a court for dead people?"

     "Yeah. Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare – people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward – the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Fields of Asphodel."

     "And do what?"

     Grover said, "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever."

     "Harsh."

     "Not as harsh as that," Grover muttered. "Look."

     A couple of black-robed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him at the security desk like actual cops. To me, he looked like any other ordinary spirit.

     "He's that preacher who made the news, remember?" Grover asked.

     "Oh, yeah," Percy nodded in realization.

     Annabeth and I turned to each other, both clearly confused. We waited for either of them to elaborate or at least give us a quick recap of who he was, but they didn't say anything.

     Percy's eyes squinted on the scene, "What're they doing to him?"

     "Special punishment from Hades," Grover guessed. "The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Fu – the Kindly Ones will set up an eternal torture for him."

     The thought of the Furies made a chill run down my spine. We didn't have the advantage anymore, we were the ones in their home territory now.

     "But if he's a preacher," Percy began, "and he believes in a different hell. . ."

     Grover shrugged. "Who says he's seeing this place the way we're seeing it? Humans see what they want to see. They're very stubborn – er, persistent, that way."

     We got closer to the gates. The howling was so loud now it shook the ground, but I still couldn't see where it was coming from. Then, about fifteen meters in front of us, the green mist shimmered. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but standing just where the path split into three lanes was an enormous monster. It was half transparent, like the dead, making it easier to blend into the background. If you put to the side his large teeth and blaring, angry eyes, I might've thought he was quite adorable.

     All I could think to say was, "He's a Rottweiler."

     Cerberus, guardian of the Underworld's entrance, was a purebred Rottweiler. Sure, it was twice the size of a wooly mammoth, mostly invisible, and had three heads.

     The dead walked right up to him – no fear at all. The ATTENDANT ON DUTY lines parted on either side of him. The EZ DEATH spirits walked right between his front paws and under his belly, without even having to crouch.

      "I'm starting to see him better," Percy muttered. "Why is that?"

     "I think. . ." Annabeth moistened her lips. "I'm afraid it's because we're getting closer to being dead."

     Cerberus's middle head craned towards us. He sniffed the air and growled.

     "He's smelling us," I gulped down my nerves.

     "But that's okay," Grover said, trembling in his spot. "Because we have a plan."

     "Right," Annabeth nodded, too nervous that she dropped my hand in the process. "A plan."

     We advanced towards the monster. The middle head snarled at us, then barked so loud my teeth rattled.

     "Can you understand it?" Percy asked Grover.

     "Oh yeah," he nodded. "I can understand it."

     "What's it saying?"

     "I don't think humans have a four-letter word that translates, exactly."

     Percy saw this as an opportunity to take the big stick out of my backpack – a bed post broken off Crusty's Safari Deluxe floor model. He held it up, and tried to call the dog's attention as if it was another regular mascot.

     "Hey, Big Fella," He called up. "I bet they don't play with you much."

     Cerberus growled.

     "Good boy," he said weakly.

     Percy waved the stick in the air. The dog's middle head followed the movement. The other two heads trained their eyes on him and completely ignored the spirits. Cerberus's undivided attention was on him.

     "Fetch!" He threw the stick into the gloom.

     I heard the stick splash in the River Styx. So much for our 'brilliant' plan. Cerberus glared at Percy, unimpressed by the act. His eyes were baleful and cold, now making a new kind of growl, deeper down in his three throats.

     "Um," Grover called. "Percy?"

     "Yeah?"

     "I just thought you'd want to know."

     "Yeah?"

     "Cerberus? He's saying we've got ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice. After that. . .well. . .he's hungry."

     "Wait!" Annabeth yelled. She started rifling through her pack.

     "Five seconds," Grover said. "Do we run now?"

     Annabeth pulled out a red rubber ball the size of a grapefruit. It was labeled: WATERLAND, DENVER, CO. Before any of us could stop her, she raised the ball and marched straight up to Cerberus.

     She shouted, "See the ball? You want the ball, Cerberus? Sit!"

     Cerberus looked as surprised as we were. All three of his heads cocked sideways. His six nostrils dilated.

     "Sit!" Annabeth called again.

     I never doubted any of Annabeth's plans, but I was sure she was going to become the dog's fresh snack in any given moment. But instead, Cerberus licked his three sets of lips, shifted on his haunches, and sat, crushing the spirits who'd been passing underneath him in the EZ DEATH line. The spirits made muffled hisses as they dissipated, like the air let out of tyres.

     Annabeth's demanding tone never wavered, "Good boy!"

     She threw Cerberus the ball and he caught it in his middle mouth. It was barely big enough for him to chew, and the other heads started snapping in the middle, trying to get the new toy.

     "Drop it!" Annabeth ordered.

     Cerberus's heads stopped fighting and looked at her. The ball was wedged between two of his teeth like a tiny piece of gum. He let out a loud, scary whimper, then dropped the ball, now slimy and bitten nearly in half, at Annabeth's feet.

     "Good boy." She picked up the ball, ignoring the monster spit all over it. She turned towards us. "Go now. EZ DEATH line – it's faster."

     Absolutely not, I thought. And immediately opened my mouth to protest, "No – "

     "Now!" She ordered, in the same tone she was using on the dog.

     Percy and Grover pushed me forward warily. Cerberus started to growl.

     "Stay!" Annabeth ordered the monster. "If you want the ball, stay!"

     Cerberus whimpered, but he stayed where he was.

     "What about you?" Percy asked Annabeth as we passed her. "I know what I'm doing, Percy," she muttered. At least, I'm pretty sure. . ."

     The three of us walked between the monster's legs like all the other spirits. Before I knew it, we made it through. Cerberus wasn't any less intimidating from the back.

     Annabeth's voice rang in my ears. "Good dog!"

     She held up the tattered red ball, and I thought, if she rewarded Cerberus, there'd be nothing left for another trick. She threw the ball anyway. The monster's left mouth immediately snatched it up, only to be attacked by the middle head while the right head cried in protest. When she knew he was distracted, Annabeth walked rapidly under its belly and joined us at the metal detector. If we weren't in such a hurry, I would've embraced her in a hug.

     "How did you do that?" Percy asked her, amazed as I was.

     "Obedience school," she said breathlessly. "When I was little, at my dad's house, we had a Dobermann. . ."

     "Never mind that," Grover cut her off. "Come on!"

     We were about to bolt through the EZ DEATH line when Cerberus moaned pitifully from all three mouths. Annabeth paused and turned to face the dog, which had done a 180 degree turn to look at us. Cerberus panted expectantly, the tiny red ball in pieces in a puddle of drool that would put Percy to shame at its feet.

     "Good boy," Annabeth cooed, but her voice sounded uncertain. The monster's heads turned sideways, as if worried about her.

     "I'll bring you another ball soon," Annabeth promised faintly. "Would you like that?"

     The monster whimpered in response. Cerberus was still waiting for a new ball.

     "Good dog. I'll come visit you soon. I – I promise." Annabeth turned to us. "Let's go."

     We pushed through the metal detector, which immediately screamed and set off flashing red lights. "Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!"

     Cerberus started to bark in alarm. We burst through the EZ DEATH gate, which caused more alarms to activate, and raced into the Underworld. A few minutes later, we were hiding, out of breath, in the rotten trunk of an immense black tree. Security ghouls scuttled past, yelling for backup from the Furies.

     Grover murmured, "Well, Percy, what have we learned today?"

     "That three-headed dogs prefer red rubber balls over sticks?"

     "No," Grover shook his head. "We've learned that your plans really, really bite!"

     I would've agreed any other day, but it seemed like Annabeth and he had both had the right idea. Even here in the Underworld, everybody – even the scariest of monsters – needed a little attention once in a while. We waited for the ghouls to pass, and I swear I saw Annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend.