At sunset, the taxi dropped them at the beach in Santa Monica. There were carnival rides lining the Pier, palm trees lining the sidewalks, homeless guys sleeping in the sand dunes, and surfer dudes waiting for the perfect wave.

The four of them walked down to the edge of the surf.

"What now?" Annabeth asked.

Percy stepped into the surf.

"Percy I know your dad's Poseidon and all..." Sophie said.

But the boy just kept walking, the water coming up to his waist, then to his chest.

Annabeth looked at him confused. "You know how polluted that water is? There's all kinds of toxic—"

That's when Percy's head went underwater.

"...You do you," Sophie said going to sit on the sand and wait for Percy to do...whatever he was doing.

Annabeth came to sit next to her as Sophie started digging a hole in the sand with her finger.

"Have you had any dreams about the Underworld?" Annabeth asked her.

"No, why?"

"Well, Percy said he has, and we just...can't seem to make sense of them."

They filled her in on the fact that Percy was still thinking of that pit, and a faceless voice, that was seemingly working for someone powerful. Annabeth claimed this powerful someone had to be Hades, but even she didn't seem too convinced by that.

"I've been thinking about that too," Sophie said. "I mean...the Furies said 'where is it,' right? And if they meant an object, I can only assume they meant the bolt." She looked at Annabeth, but the daughter of wisdom did not confirm or deny.

So Sophie continued. "But if Hades has the bolt, why would they be asking us for it?"

Sophie had a feeling they had already talked about it. But Grover said "Well if Hade's doesn't have it who does?"

Sophie shrugged. All she knew was that Hades, didn't have it... well she was ninety percent sure. What would Hades benefit from taking the bolt? Sure he might want some revenge for being banished to the underworld. But if Sophie was a god that would be a reward to her, being able to get away from all the other gods.

And its not like they could change course now, Percy's mom was still in the Underworld.

Percy came out a moment later and came to sit down with the group. He held out his hand and revealed the three pearls he had received from the Nereid.

Annabeth grimaced at the sight of them. "No gift comes without a price."

"They were free." Percy pointed out.

Annabeth rolled her eyes at him. "Nothing's free. You'll see. They'll be a price—eventually."

"And there's three." Grover said.

"We'll figure it out." Sophie grinned getting up, "C'mon, let's go."

They turned their backs on the water and walked off the beach.

With some spare change from Ares's backpack, they took the bus into West Hollywood. Percy showed the driver the Underworld address slip he'd taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but the driver had never heard of DOA Recording Studios.

"You remind me of somebody I saw on TV," he told Percy. Then, the guy craned his neck to get a better look at Sophie. "You too. You kids child actors or something?"

"Uh...We're stunt doubles...for a lot of child actors," Percy said.

"Oh! That explains it."

They thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop. The four wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. Unsurprisingly, it didn't appear in the phone book.

Twice, they had to duck into alleys to avoid cop cars.

Percy froze in front of an appliance-store window. A television was playing an interview with his stepdad, Smelly Gabe. He was talking to Barbara Walters. She was interviewing him in their apartment, in the middle of a poker game, and there was a young blond lady sitting next to him, patting his hand.

A fake tear glistened on his cheek. He was saying, "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife...my Camaro...I—I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."

"There you have it, America." Barbara Walters turned to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver."

The screen cut to a grainy shot of Percy, Sophie, Annabeth, and Grover standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares.

"Who are the other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked dramatically. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."

"C'mon," Sophie told Percy, and she and Grover pulled him away before he could punch a hole in the appliance-store window, or something.

It got dark. They walked past gangbangers, bums, and street hawkers, who looked at them like they were trying to figure if we were worth the trouble of mugging. Hungry-looking characters started coming out on the streets to play.

As they hurried passed the entrance of an alley, a voice from the darkness said, "Hey, you."

And, like an idiot, Percy stopped. As if he hadn't lived in New York City his whole life.

Sophie had only lived in the city for less than 3 years, but even she was familiar to dodging suspicious people on the streets to avoid these types of situations.

Suddenly, the four of them were surrounded by a gang of kids. Eight of them in all—white kids with expensive clothes and mean faces. Like a few kids She had seen at Yancy Academy: rich brats playing at being bad boys.

But when one of the loser boys, with a switchblade almost as long as her dagger, eyed her up and down and made a move towards her, she clenched her fists and got in, what was probably a very pathetic looking, fight stance.

Instinctively, Percy uncapped Riptide. And the one who had looked at Sophie, Percy pinned him as the leader, must have been really stupid, because he kept coming forward with his switchblade.

Percy made the mistake of swinging. But the degenerate boy must've been one hundred percent mortal, because the blade passed harmlessly right through his chest. He looked down. "What the..."

"Run!" Percy screamed the other three.

Annabeth pushed one kid out of the way while Sophie kicked the other in the groin. They raced down the street, not knowing where they were going. They turned a sharp corner.

"There!" Annabeth shouted.

"Crusty's Water Bed Palace?" Grover translated.

The demigods burst through the doors, ran behind a water bed, and ducked. A split second later, the gang kids ran past outside.

"I think we lost them," Grover panted.

A voice behind them boomed, "Lost who?"

They all jumped.

Standing behind them was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. He was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had gray, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved toward them slowly.

His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino. It belonged back in the seventies, big-time. The shirt was silk paisley, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips.

"I'm Crusty," he said, with a tartar-yellow smile.

Clearly.

"Sorry to barge in," Percy told him. "We were just, um, browsing."

"You mean hiding from those no-good kids," he grumbled. "They hang around every night. I get a lot of people in here, thanks to them. Say, you want to look at a water bed?"

Sophie was about to say 'no, thank you,' when he put a huge paw on her shoulder and steered her deeper into the showroom. There was every kind of water bed you could imagine: different kinds of wood, different patterns of sheets; queen-size, king-size, emperor-of-the-universe-size.

"This is my most popular model." Crusty spread his hands proudly over a bed covered with black satin sheets, with built-in Lava Lamps on the headboard. The mattress vibrated, so it looked like oil-flavored Jell-O.

"Million-hand massage," Crusty told them. "Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap. I don't care. No business today, anyway."

"Million-hand massage!" Grover cried, and dove in. "Oh, you guys! This is cool."

"Hmm," Crusty said, stroking his leathery chin. "Almost, almost."

"Almost what?" Percy asked.

He looked at Sophie. "Do me a favor and try this one over here, honey. Might fit."

Sophie squirmed a bit trying to get out of his grip "No- I'm fine-"

He patted her reassuringly on the shoulder and led her, as well as Annabeth, over to the Safari Deluxe model with teakwood lions carved into the frame and a leopard-patterned comforter. When they refused to lay down, Crusty tossed Sophie onto a bed and pushed Annabeth onto another.

Crusty snapped his fingers. "Ergo!"

Ropes sprang from the sides of the bed, lashing around Sophie, then Annabeth, holding them to each of their mattresses.

Grover tried to get up, but ropes sprang from his black-satin bed, too, and lashed him down.

"N-not c-c-cool!" he yelled, his voice vibrating from the million-hand massage. "N-not c-cool a-at all!"

The giant looked at Sophie, then turned toward Percy and grinned.

"Not a good fit, that one."

Percy tried to step away, but Crusty grabbed him by the back of his neck. "Whoa, kid. Don't worry. We'll find you one in a sec."

"You've lost a costumer!" Sophie called out.

"Let my friends go," Percy demanded, trying to kick at the guy.

"Oh, sure I will. But I got to make them fit, first."

"What do you mean?"

"All the beds are exactly six feet, see? Your friends are too short. Got to make them fit."

Sophie's eyes widened as she struggled harder.

"Can't stand imperfect measurements," Crusty muttered. "Ergo!"

A new set of ropes leaped out from the top and bottom of the waterbeds, wrapping around Grover, Annabeth and Sophie's ankles, then around their armpits. The ropes started tightening, pulling them from both ends.

At least she'd be taller.

Sophie felt a searing pain shoot through her limbs. Her joints felt ready to pop out of their sockets and detach from her body.

Being stretched to death was not the way she wanted to go.

That would sound really stupid on a headstone.

"Don't worry," Crusty told Percy, "Now why don't we find a bed you like, huh?"

"Percy!" Grover yelled.

With each passing second, the pain worsened. Sophie focused on the ceiling, distracting herself from the agony.

"Your real name's not Crusty, is it?" Percy asked.

"Legally, it's Procrustes," he admitted.

"The Stretcher," Percy said.

"Yeah," the salesman said. "But who can pronounce Procrustes? Bad for business. Now 'Crusty,' anybody can say that."

"You're right. It's got a good ring to it."

His eyes lit up. "You think so?"

"Oh, absolutely," Percy said. "And the workmanship on these beds? Fabulous!"

He grinned hugely, but his fingers didn't loosen on Percy's neck. "I tell my customers that. Every time. Nobody bothers to look at the workmanship. How many built-in Lava Lamp headboards have you seen?"

"Not too many."

"That's right!"

Sophie didn't want to listen to Percy make small talk with The Stretcher anymore. She continued to stare up at the ceiling, letting her mind wander, as she hummed quietly to herself.

After some more chatting with the crustaceous man, Percy glanced at his friends to see how they were holding up.

Annabeth was turning pale, Grover was making gurgling sounds, and Sophie was staring up at the ceiling looking dazed. Percy woYour fiveave thought she was dead if he didn't hear her quietly humming some stupid song.

"So, Crusty..." Percy said, trying to keep his voice light. He glanced at the sales tag on the valentine-shaped Honeymoon Special. "Does this one really have dynamic stabilizers to stop wave motion?"

"Absolutely. Try it out."

"Yeah, maybe I will. But would it work even for a big guy like you? No waves at all?"

"Guaranteed."

"No way,"

"Way."

"Show me."

He sat down eagerly on the bed, patted the mattress. "No waves. See?"

Percy snapped his fingers. "Ergo."

Ropes lashed around Crusty and flattened him against the mattress. "Hey!" he yelled.

"Center him just right," Percy said.

The ropes readjusted themselves at the boy's command. Crusty's whole head stuck out the top. His feet stuck out the bottom.

"No!" he said. "Wait! This is just a demo."

Percy uncapped Riptide. "A few simple adjustments..." He lined up his sword, smirking, and swung down.

After Percy killed the guy, he raced to free his friends from their waterbed prisons. All three got up wincing and groaning.

"I feel Taller." Sophie complained hitting her shoulder in hopes it would feel normal again.

They looked at the bulletin board behind Crusty's sales desk. There was an advertisement for Hermes Delivery Service, and another for the All-New Compendium of L.A. Area Monsters—"The only Monstrous Yellow Pages you'll ever need!" Under that, a bright orange flier for DOA Recording Studios, offering commissions for heroes' souls. "We are always looking for new talent!" DOA's address was right underneath with a map.

"Come on," Percy said.

"Give us a minute," Grover complained. "We were almost stretched to death.'"

"Then you're ready for the Underworld," Percy said. "It's only a block from here."

They left the store and headed down the block. Annabeth peaked out the alleyway, making sure they wouldn't run into any more gangs.

The four demigods stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in blackmarble: 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 other three. "Okay. You remember the plan."

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

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

"Don't think negative." Sophie grinned.

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

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.

Oh, and they were all transparent.

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 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.

Percy read the name tag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"

He leaned across the desk. "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.

"No 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 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?"

Percy's stomach churned, and he looked at Sophie.

"We wanna go to the underworld." Sophie said.

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

"It is?" Sophie asked.

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

Percy stuttered, "Oh, well we uhm..." He looked to Sophie for support.

"Drowned," Percy said, nodding his head. "In a...bathtub."

Charon looked unconvinced. "All four of you?"

"It was a big bathtub."

Charon was clearly judging their supposed death, but said, "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 three golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash he'd found in Crusty's office desk.

"Well, now..." Charon said. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in..."

Then, Charon looked at Percy. That cold stare behind his glasses seemed to bore a hole through the demigod's chest.

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

"No," Percy said. "I'm dead."

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

"But Mr. Charon sir, we have to get to the Underworld," Sophie insisted.

Charon made a growling sound deep in his throat.

Immediately, all the people in the waiting room got up and started pacing, agitated, lighting cigarettes, running hands through their hair, or checking their wristwatches.

"Leave while you can," Charon told the questers. "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," he said.

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

Percy held up the entire bag from Crusty's stash. Sophie reached in and took out a fistful of drachmas and let the coins spill through her fingers dramatically.

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

"Quite a bit," Sophie said casually, putting the coins back in Percy's bag. "I bet Hades doesn't pay you well enough, for such hard work."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it sister," Charon said, his posh attitude dropping slightly.

He looked over them and at the crowded lobby. "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." Sophie said.

"Respect," Percy added.

"Appreciation."

"Good pay."

With each word, the two stacked 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, kids, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

Percy stacked another few coins. "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 four and be off."

He stood, scooped up their money, and said, "Come along."

They followed behind, pushing through the crowd of waiting spirits. He escorted them into the elevator, which was already crowded with souls of the dead, each one holding a green boarding pass.

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

He shut the doors, put a key card into a slot in the elevator panel, and they started to descend.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Annabeth asked, "What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?"

"Nothing," Charon said.

"For how long?"

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

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

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

"We'll get out alive," Percy said.

"Ha."

The elevator started to move forward instead of down, and the spirits started changing shape. They're modern day clothing flickering, and turning into gray hooded robes. Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced by a long black robe. His tortoiseshell glasses were gone. Where his eyes should've been were empty sockets—like Ares's eyes, except Charon's were totally dark, full of night and death and despair.

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

Then, the elevator wasn't an elevator anymore. They were sitting in a wooden barge. Charon was poling them across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things—plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges.

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

"Polluted," Charon said. "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."

Sophie looked towards it a sad feeling filling her chest.

Mist curled off the filthy water. Above them, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.

This place looked a lot like the place in her dream. The tall pointy rocks and dark creepy atmosphere.

Sophie could feel Annabeth inch a bit closer to her on the boat, her head turning around nonstop to examine the world around them.

Then, on her other side, Percy scooted closer to her as well, making it so their pinky's were touching on the bench both their hands were on.

The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as the eye could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones—the howl of a large animal.

"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light.

The bottom of the boat slid onto the black sand. The dead began to disembark. A woman holding a little girl's hand. An old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm. A boy no older than 12, shuffling silently along in his gray robe.

Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, but there isn't any down here."

Dam. Sophie thought.

"Don't forget to mention my pay raise," Charon said.

The four followed the spirits up a well-worn path.

Sophie recognized this again, from her dream.

Annabeth had told her that demigod dreams were weird.

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 with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were tollbooths manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon.

The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but the three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades's door, was nowhere to be seen.

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 crawling.

It was really depressing honestly. 

I'm so sorry for the mess up recently.

I'm working on writing three chapters in advance so this doesn't happen again, but if your a teenager like me you'll know the stress of school and stuff, I also take an hour on the bus so i get home at like 5.

But this week i'll give you an extra chapter to apologize.

Blake 🫡