vii. fields of asphodel

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THEY STAND IN VALENCIA BOULEVARD, LOOKING UP AT THE GOLD LETTERS ETCHED IN BLACK MARBLE: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS. Underneath it, stenciled on the glass doors, iss: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

It's almost midnight yet the lobby is brightly lit and full of spirits. Behind the security desk sits a tough-looking bodyguard with sunglasses and an earpiece. Charon. Thea's stomach twists as she realizes they'll have to, somehow, trick him to get in. There will be no beating Charon, not in his own realm.

Percy turns to them. "Okay. You remember the plan?"

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

"What happens if the plan doesn't work?" Annabeth asks.

"Don't think negative."

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

As Percy takes the four pearls out of his pocket and Annabeth puts her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

She gives Grover a nudge.

"Oh, right!" he chimes in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

Everyone looks to Thea.

"Um, yay. Go, team!"

It doesn't seem to brighten the mood like she thought it would.

They trudge inside the lobby and she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Somehow, as if it might help her appearance, she ties up her hair with a piece of cloth from her bag. It doesn't do much, not with the dirt on her face and the rope burns on her body.

Muzak plays softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls are steel gray. The furniture is black leather, like obsidian, and every seat is taken by a spirit. They're everywhere. Sitting, standing up, looking out the window, waiting in line for the elevator. It makes Thea feel trapped and she just wants them to disappear.

Charon's desk is a raised podium, so they have to look up at him. It does its job: it makes the person feel inferior, a feeling Thea hates.

He's tall, regal, and his skin is only a shade or two darker than Thea's. His hair is bleach blonde, cut close to his scalp, which shows off several scars across his skull. He wears tortoiseshell shades and a silk suit that matches his hair. A black rose is pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag that neatly says Charon.

Thea hopes if she keeps categorizing his appearance, he'll just let them in.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy asks, bewildered.

Well, shit.

Charon leans across the desk and Thea can't see anything but herself in the reflection of his glasses, but she knows she doesn't want to see what's behind them. His smile is even worse—cold, yet sweet, like Medusa's right as she turns people to stone.

Thea feels bile rise in her throat at the thought of it and she wants to run away and hide.

"What a precious young lad." His accent is British, but it sounds almost lopsided, and it's clear he had only spoken Greek in the last thousand years. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no."

"Sir," Charon adds smoothly.

"Sir," Percy says.

He pinches the name tag and runs 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 says.

"Well done." Charon sits back in his chair. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?"

The question catches them off guard, so Annabeth answers, thankfully. "We want to go to the Underworld."

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

"It is?" she asks.

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

Thea blurts an answer before she can think. She doesn't trust Percy to answer. "Stabbed," she says. "Nasty stabbing. They got me first."

It holds some truth, she's been stabbed a lot. It isn't her fault that it's the first realistic thing she could think of.

"Grisly death." Charon looks 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 sits three golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash they found in Crusty's desk.

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

His fingers hover greedily over the coins.

They're so, so close. If they can just get past him, they'll be into the Underworld, and she can—

Charon's eyes snap to Percy. "Here now," he says carefully. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lad?"

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

Who let him do the talking? Why him?

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

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

Charon growls, deep in his throat, and the spirits shift anxiously. Thea's hair stands on end all the way to her scalp, but she forces a brave look on her face. She's the daughter of Andraya Vasquez, a descendant of Hecate, and some other unknown god who can't bother to show his face. She can do this.

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

"No service, no tip." Percy sounds sure of himself and confident.

Charon growls again—a deep, blood-chilling sound. Thea tries to ignore the spirits pounding on the elevator doors, a reminder of the years of torment they'll face with Charon if they don't pull this off.

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

Percy takes out the entire bag from Crusty's stash. He takes out a fist full of drachmas and lets them spill through his fingers onto the desk.

Charon's growl turns into something that reminds her of a panther's purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh . . . just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"

"A lot," Percy says. "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," Percy agrees. "A little appreciation. Respect. Good pay."

With each word, he stacks another gold drachma on the counter.

Charon looks down at his suit, clearly imagining himself in something better. "I must say, lad, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

Percy stacks three more drachmas. "I could mention a pay raise while I'm talking to Hades."

Charon sighs. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you four and be off." He scoops up their money and tucks it into his pants pocket where it manages to disappear without a trace. "Come on."

They push through the crowd of waiting spirits and they start grabbing at her clothes, pulling them like the wind, their transparent fingers digging into Thea's clothes. Her heart frantically pounds in her chest as she swats them away, scratching at them as if, somehow, they'll feel it. They seem to get the message from the manic look in her eyes.

Charon escorts them into the elevators, which are already crowded with spirits, each one holding a green boarding pass. He grabs two spirits who are trying to get on with them and pushes them back into the lobby.

"Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone," he announces 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 shuts the doors, puts a key card into a slot in the elevator panel, and they start to descend.

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

"Nothing," Charon says.

"For how long?"

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

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

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

Thea's heart clenches. Death is never fair, she knows that the hard way.

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

Charon only laughs mildly, as if it only amuses him for a moment.

Thea suddenly becomes dizzy and realizes they are no longer going down, but forward. The air is misty, almost like fog, and the spirits are beginning to change shape. Their modern clothes are gone, exchanged for gray hooded robes that drench the air with their despair.

She can't hear anything but the sound of her rapidly beating heart as they continue forward. The elevator is no longer that, it's now a wooden barge, on what she knows has to be the River Styx. It's dark, almost oily, swirling with things people never achieve.

Thea wants to throw herself in, to be swallowed by it, to make the awful ache in her chest stop expanding and consuming her. All she can think when she sees an item is is that my mother's? Or what would hers have been? Or what were mine? She feels tears brimming on her eyelids, threatening to pull forward, and she doesn't know what to do. Crying is stupid—weak, foolish—especially in front of the others and Charon. But the weight of where she is, and what might happen, is too much.

When the boat comes to a stop, Thea hops out along with the spirits and trudges up the well-worn path. She doesn't wait for the others, not until they come chasing after her.

"Thea," Annabeth whispers urgently, "you can't just—" She stops, but hurries to keep pace with her. "Are you crying?"

"No." She wipes her face with her sleeve, so hard that the rope burns flare with pain. "Shut up, princess. You cried over spiders, which is the dumbest thing in the world."

"You can cry, Thea."

"No, I—shut up." Her hands form into fists, so tightly wound her knuckles turn white. "Just—just leave me alone. Talk to me when this ends."

She knows, deep down, that their definition of 'end' is probably different.

The Underworld is just like Thea had studied. There isn't much to learn about, she only knows the basics, the essential things. Still, the sight of something that reminds her of an airport terminal crossed with a highway is not quite what she expects. It's a bit . . . underwhelming.

Three separate entrances under one large black archway say 'YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS.' Each entrance has a metal detector with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond that are tollbooths manned by black-robed ghouls, similar to Charon. It makes her feel like a criminal—inferior—and she hates it.

Thea tenses at the loud, intense howling. Cerebus isn't far from them, she can tell by the way her skin is starting to have goosebumps. If there's one thing she doesn't want, it's to meet the three-headed dog from hell.

The dead queue up in the three lines, two labeled 'ATTENDANT ON DUTY,' and one labeled 'EZ DEATH.' The EZ DEATH line is moving along, the people nearly walking at a regular pace. The other two are at a standstill.

"What do you figure?" Percy asks.

"The fast line must go straight to the Asphodel Fields," Annabeth says. "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 Asphodel Fields."

Yeah, and they were all racist rapists, but Thea doesn't voice that.

"And do what?"

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

"Harsh."

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

Two ghouls have pulled aside a spirit and are frisking him at the security desk.

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

"Oh, yeah."

Thea has no idea who that is, she's been dead for the last three years.

"What're they doing to him?" Percy asks.

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

Percy looks confused. "But if he's a preacher and he believes in a different hell . . ."

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

They get closer to the gates. The howling is loud enough that Thea can feel the ground shake beneath her feet. She almost makes a joke to Percy, that he's so scared he became an earthshaker like his father, but she doesn't have it in her.

Fifty feet ahead of them, where the path splits into three lanes, stands Cerebus. A large—arguably several-ton—Rottweiler. Purebred, no ounce of anything else. The three heads are trained on the crowd, watching insistently, with ribbons of saliva dripping from their jowls.

Percy's stunned. "He's a Rottweiler."

"No," Thea says halfheartedly, "he's a unicorn."

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

"Wait," Thea whispers. "You guys . . . you guys haven't been able to see him this whole time? Like the entire time you haven't seen a Rottweiler?"

"No," Annabeth says worriedly. "Have you?"

"Maybe."

She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. "We're seeing it because we're getting closer to being dead. Maybe it's because you already died?"

Thea only shrugs. She can't find it in herself to ask any more questions, it takes too much energy. And the more she asks, the more she has to wonder why she didn't stay dead.

The spirits walk under Cerebus with no fear at all. The 'ATTENDANT ON DUTY' lines split on either side of him, while the 'EZ DEATH' spirits walk under his stomach and through his front paws easily.

Cerebus' head cranes toward them. He raises his head, sniffs, and growls, a sound that shakes Thea's bones.

"It can smell the living," Percy whispers.

"But that's okay," Grover says, trembling next to them. "Because we have a plan."

"Right," Annabeth whispers weakly. "A plan."

"Your plan fucking sucks," Thea whispers, hand itching to go for her sword. "If I was religious, I think I'd pray."

She is, technically, but she has a feeling her father won't do anything to help her now.

They move toward the monster.

The middle head barks so loud Thea's brain rattles in her skull.

"Can you understand it?" Percy asks Grover.

"Oh yeah," Grover says. "I can understand it."

"What's it saying?"

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

Percy takes the bedpost out of his bag, one that he'd broken off of a bedpost from Crusty's. He holds it up, waves it, and tries his best to smile. It looks like he's been shot through the spine.

"Hey, big fella," Percy calls, voice shaking. "I bet they don't play with you much."

As Cerebus growls, Thea wonders why she didn't just steal their stuff and make a break for it back at Crusty's. That would have been a better plan than this.

"Good boy," Percy says weakly.

He waves the stick again, and Cerebus' middle head follows the movement while the other two heads are trained on him and him only.

"Fetch!" Percy throws the stick, and in one solid throw, it lands in the River Styx.

Cerebus glares at him, very unimpressed. It looks like no one is behind those eyes, but deep down, she knows something is. Deeper in all three of his throats, Cerebus begins to growl again.

"Um," Grover whispers. "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 says. She rifles through her bag, a few things falling out in the process.

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

Annabeth produces a rubber red ball the size of a grapefruit. It's labeled with 'WATERLAND, DENVER, CO.' Before Thea can point out how awful of a plan it is, Annabeth raises the ball and marches straight up to Cerebus.

"See the ball?" she shouts. "You want the ball, Cerebus? Sit!"

Cerebus looks as stunned as they are. All three of his heads cock sideways and Thea can just picture herself getting thrown pitifully into a flaming lake of torture.

"Sit!" Annabeth calls again.

But instead, Cerebus licks his lips, shifts on his haunches, and sits, immediately crushing fourteen spirits that dissipate like the hiss of air when you slash a tire. It sounds more like when you simultaneously split two instead of one, Thea thinks.

"Good boy!" Annabeth says.

She throws Cerebus the ball. He catches it in his middle mouth. It's barely big enough for him to chew, but as soon as he does, the other two heads start snapping, attempting to get their own chance with it.

"Drop it," Annabeth orders.

Cerebus' heads stop fighting and stare at her. The ball is wedged between two of his teeth like a stubborn piece of broccoli. He whimpers, gives Annabeth another stare, and drops the nearly-bitten in half slimy ball by her feet.

"Good boy." She picks up the ball, seemingly not bothered by the now-wet ball. She turns to them, holding the ball tight in her hand. "Go now. EZ DEATH line—it's faster."

"But—"

"Now."

Wearily, the three of them inch forward, and Cerebus lets out a warning growl. He doesn't seem to be looking at Thea despite having three heads, and it terrifies her.

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

He whimpers, but he stays where he is.

"What about you?" Percy asks as they pass her.

"I know what I'm doing, Percy," she says. "At least, I'm pretty sure . . ."

Thea hopes Annabeth knows what she's doing, she can't wait. She can't waste any more time.

Annabeth holds up the tattered ball, throws it, and Cerebus' left mouth immediately catches it. Quickly, the other heads start to fight each other for the ball, and Annabeth walks briskly underneath it to join them at the metal detector.

"How did you do that?" Percy asks, amazed.

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

"Never mind that," Grover says, tugging at Percy's shirt sleeve. "Come on!"

Thea is milliseconds from bolting through the EZ DEATH when, from all three heads, Cerebus moans pitifully. Thea bites her tongue, a sense of dread in her stomach as she turns around to see Cerebus in the same spot as before, but facing them now, waiting expectantly for his next ball.

"Good boy," Annabeth says, but the confidence is draining from her words.

"Guys," Thea whispers sharply, "we need to run. Now."

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

Cerebus whimpers. Thea can't find it in herself to care, she only wants to run through the EZ DEATH line.

"Good dog. I'll come visit you soon. I-I promise." Annabeth turns to them. "Let's go."

Thea pushes through the metal detector, the three of them right behind her, and it immediately starts screaming and setting off flashing red lights. "Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!"

"We're all fucking magic!" Thea yells angrily as she shoulders a few spirits out of their way. Everything blurs past her as she grabs Annabeth's hand, pulling her forward to make her run faster.

She stops, nearly tripping over her own feet, and pulls Annabeth into the rotten trunk of a thick black tree. Percy and Grover follow, all four of them crowding together in the trunk. Thea holds a hand over her mouth as people sprint past to stop them from hearing her panting. No one else seems to take the hint.

"Well, Percy," Grover murmurs. "What have we learned today?"

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

"No. We've learned that your plans really, really bite!"

Once Thea's breath slows to a normal pace, she takes her hand off her mouth and looks out the minuscule hole in the trunk next to her head. She looks out to see trampled black grass in the dim light, underneath the feet of millions of people, their faces blurry yet hauntingly clear.

"We're here," she whispers. "I can't believe it."

"Where?" Percy asks. "What is this place?"

"The Fields of Asphodel." Thea searches the crowd. "It's the place where almost every dead person goes."

The place where she might have a chance to see her mother.