BLOOD CAKED ALEX'S FACE so that every time he pushed his hair away from his eyes, more of it stained his hands. Hardly a stranger to blood covered hands, he tried, and failed, to push away memories of his time with Luke.

Maybe it was the atmosphere. Surrounded by wandering ghosts, greying marshlands, and a black void for a sky, all he could think of was how many people he had put in the ground. His chest tightened. Only their three pairs of footsteps made any noise among the dead. He supposed he should be thankful that he'd killed more monsters than Half-Bloods.

Alex walked slightly behind Ophelia. She had a spring in her step, striding forward with a purpose he tried but failed to muster himself. Few times in his life had he failed to lead when necessary. Both times, Ophelia had stepped up for him. He owed her for it. Owed her more than maybe she realized.

Neither had wanted to escape Luke through the Labyrinth. But they'd seen no other choice. Alex still remembered the night they'd left so clearly. Ophelia had used her manipulation of Mist and shadow to conceal them when they snuck towards the Labyrinth entrance in the darkest hours before dawn. His heart had pounded so hard as they passed under the noses of two Laistrygonians, he'd been sure the monsters would sense them.

But they didn't. Alex wondered if Hermes had helped them that night. Hecate certainly hadn't. But of all the children in Kronos's army who entered the maze, the only other one to come out alive was also a child of Hermes.

Regardless, without Ophelia, Alex had no doubt he would've come out the other side as insane as Chris had. The instant he'd led her down the first corner, he'd lost his way. He remembered the musty stench of the long, dark corridors. At first it had looked like city sewers. Then it had changed, becoming closer to cavern walls.

It hadn't taken long for Ophelia to step into the role of leader. When she concentrated, Ophelia had been able to see through the illusions of the Labyrinth. She could control the Maze, and will it to go where she wished. Most times, anyways.

They had still run into problems. Any time they uncovered bodies of their friends in the dark corridors, Ophelia seemed to lose her grip on the Mist. This had never been more true than after they'd found the body of Tyrone Walker, the thirteen year old unclaimed boy who had wanted anything but to enter the Maze. He'd been the last to go in before Ophelia and Alex had made the decision to leave Luke.

Alex had found his cold body with an arrow in his neck. A pool of dried blood had stained the white sleeves of the boy's Arsenal soccer jersey. Beside him, Tyrone's sword in his abdomen, lay another boy of about the same age. A quiver of arrows lay just peeking out from behind his purple tee shirt.

As Ophelia had stood in silence, Alex had tried to work out what had happened. Some ten feet away lay a snapped bow; it must've broken before the unknown child had managed to land a hit on Tyrone. They probably scuffled. It must've ended with the unknown boy stabbing the arrow into Tyrone's neck.

After that, they'd stumbled around for days. Ophelia had kept saying she was fine, that she knew what she was doing. But Alex had figured out quickly that she was lying.

The Underworld didn't look like the Labyrinth. As he walked between sparse dead trees surrounded by endless silent spirits of the dead, he didn't know if the openness here was any better. In some ways being so wide a space made the void that much more oppressive. But as he glanced at Ophelia, Alex wondered if the confidence she showed this time was real.

He wanted to hold her hand. But his hand wouldn't move towards hers. When he'd landed he'd been so dizzy, so out of breath, her body had given him comfort. But the more he'd regained his senses, the quicker he'd realized how cold she felt. Unnaturally and uncomfortably cold, like someone with frostbite.

Trying not to draw attention to himself, Alex glanced back at Kitty. A burning anger filled his tightening chest as he laid eyes on her. The piece of ambrosia she'd gulped down had healed the deep harpy claw marks across her shoulder. She looked fine. Not a scratch. Almost no blood.

In her arms, she hugged the Lyre of Orpheus to her chest. Her blue hair and pale skin glowed in its gentle light. Eyes trained on the ground in front of her, she didn't look up. Alex had to restrain himself from scoffing. Good. Let her feel bad. He turned back to Ophelia.

He didn't know how much Ophelia had seen. If she had noticed Kitty gamble her life away, she hadn't said anything. But Alex had seen it. He'd watched Kitty choose herself and that damned lyre over ensuring Ophelia was safe. Kitty had explained how her powers worked before. Russian roulette, she'd called it. Not helping Ophelia had all but guaranteed the girl would suffer the consequences. Helping her may have kept them all safe. They were in this quest as a group. They finished together or not at all. He didn't want to look at her right now.

Instead, he looked where they were going. The ground started to slope upwards, grey-green marshland turning to black gravel and slate. The structure, definitely an overpass, rose up not far away. What the gods needed with an overpass, he had no idea. Some poor soul had probably been tasked with building it as punishment for something. The gods sure did love poetic irony.

Even with the change in terrain, absent ghosts lined every foot of the Fields of Asphodel. They didn't move except to part, wordlessly, for Ophelia. Chiron's lessons for the year rounders echoed in his mind. Hecate, one of the few gods who could pass between the Underworld, the mortal world, and Olympus, is still first and foremost counted among the Underworld deities. She is considered the goddess of magic, the Mist, crossroads, and necromancy. If any Half-Blood runs into her, they should be sure to avoid mention of William Shakespeare. Apparently she was still bitter about her appearances in Macbeth. Chiron hadn't elaborated.

Alex had never stopped to consider if Ophelia could summon the dead as he'd seen Nico do. As far as he knew, she had never tried. Maybe she could command them, but not summon them. He couldn't imagine Hades letting the dead out of the Underworld for anyone but his own kid.

As they got closer to the overpass, Alex noticed a worksite perimeter had been set up around the base of a mostly built grey exit ramp. Tables, tarps, and mini mountains of building materials sat around the mostly empty landscape. No ghosts passed the perimeter line of orange traffic cones. Instead, people very much made of flesh, not whatever kept the spirits of the Underworld together, wandered about wearing orange hardhats.

But as they got closer, the only face Alex could focus on was that of a man in his early fifties, with short grey hair and a clipped grey beard. He'd only met the man once. But that face would never leave him.

Alex pushed his way past Ophelia, his right fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He heard nothing except his own blood pounding in his ears. Before a word was said between them, Alex's fist connected with his jaw. He knocked the man to the ground.

"Get up!" Alex said. He ignored the pain in his fist, cradling it to his chest. He focused, instead, on the joy he felt from punching Daedalus in the face at long last.

"Alex!" Kitty said.

Alex ignored her. He stared down at the now very much flesh and blood version of the once-automaton body of Quintus, Daedalus's form from Camp Half-Blood, clutching his face on the ground. All the other workers had disappeared elsewhere. Clearly the Underworld didn't inspire loyalty.

"Who are you?" Daedalus said. He struggled to his feet, wavering a bit. Tone dripping with barely hidden scorn, he added, "And what in the name of Crete did you do that for, child?"

"Alex Griffith, son of Hermes," he said. "I had the unfortunate pleasure of traveling through your godsforsaken Labyrinth. You're lucky you're already dead, or I'd kill you myself."

"Not if I did it first." Ophelia came up to stand beside him, arms over her chest.

Daedalus hadn't flinched at his words, but at Ophelia's, he wavered. Alex glanced sideways. Shadows seemed to fall from her hands like mist from a fog machine. He smirked, turning back to Daedalus.

"Look, I don't know who you are or why you are here," he said, "but I'm just doing my job. The Labyrinth died when I died."

"No," Alex said, "It didn't."

"What?"

From overhead came a screech so terrible that Alex covered his ears. Like a harpy, and yet so much worse, the void of the Underworld closed in around him. Alex forgot all about his anger, all about the Labyrinth. He fell to his knees. Kitty dropped beside him, and Daedalus across the way. At every steady wing beat, Alex found himself more frozen to the spot.

"Hey! Stop it!" Ophelia said.

Alex couldn't see what she did, but he heard a hiss, and then two large feet hit the gravel ground. After a moment, he felt his body respond again. Alex stood up off the ground, willing his legs to stop shaking.

He found himself face to face with the most hideous monster he'd ever seen. Woman-like, and yet definitely not a human, she had grey leathery wings like a bat, sunken glowing eyes, and a mouth full of yellow fangs that reminded him of a barracuda when she grinned. Massive claws replaced fingernails, and torn rags covered a greying, wrinkled humanlike body.

This had to be a Fury.

"Child of Hecate," she snarled. "Child of Hermes. Child of Tyche. Stop disrupting the construction site. You should not be here. You are not dead."

"Show us the way out, and we'll leave," Ophelia said.

The Fury cackled. The horrible noise sent shivers down his spine. "That is not my job. I get paid to enforce the punishments of the dead. Not the living." She turned to Kitty. "You do not have the power of Orpheus. Without his voice, that Lyre cannot sway me."

"Then show us to Hades's palace," Ophelia said.

The Fury barred her teeth. "You are lucky that your mother is once more in his favor. She waits for you in the garden of Persephone."

Alex finally found his voice. Though it came shakily and left him breathless, he joined Ophelia in questioning the Fury. "Then show us the way."

"I do so only so that Daedalus must continue his Punishment." The Fury pointed with her clawed right hand down the other side of a small slope. "Continue straight. You will reach the palace and Persephone's garden soon enough."

If her glowing eyes had released his gaze, Alex would've spared another sharp glare for Daedalus. But he couldn't convince his body to break eye contact with her. He wondered, briefly, if this was what prey felt like when trying to sneak past a predator. In her home in the darkness of the Underworld, at their full power, the Fury would no doubt eviscerate him if given the chance. Alex had no intention of giving her that chance.

Ophelia kept herself between him and Kitty and the Fury. She didn't look scared at all. Not even when they reached the bottom of the slope and heard another deafening shriek did she flinch.

Alex struggled to breathe. Kitty looked white as a sheet beside him, clinging to the Lyre of Orpheus like it was a life preserver. He turned back to Ophelia. She led the way again, tall and strong and unflinching. His mouth ran dry. At least he had his answer. She could not have faked her confidence at the foot of a Fury.