Phaedra Belinda Guerreo was only seven years old when she was abandoned by her mother. She got to camp with the help of a few demigods named Luke and Thalia. On the way, they met another little demigod named Annabeth. They became best friends. Annab...
Percy whistled. “You have evil thoughts for a goat.”
“Why, thank you.”
"This is why me and Grover get along." Phaedra told him.
“But the thing in the pit said it was waiting for two items,” Percy said. “If the master bolt is one, what’s the other?”
Clearly if Hades is looking for something, what is the most important thing that Hades owns? Stupid people. Obviously he's missing something important. Maybe it's his helm of darkness, it's the most important thing he owns.
Grover shook his head, clearly mystified. Annabeth was looking at Percy as if she knew my next question, and was silently willing him not to ask it.
Please don't ask it.
“You have an idea what might be in that pit, don’t you?” he asked her. “I mean, if it isn’t Hades?”
“Percy...let’s not talk about it. Because if it isn’t Hades...No. It has to be Hades.” Phaedra said to stop Percy from asking questions.
Wasteland rolled by. They passed a sign that said CALIFORNIA STATE LINE, 12 MILES.
There was something else going on, something even more dangerous.
The problem was: they were hurtling toward the Underworld at ninety-five miles an hour, betting that Hades had the master bolt. If they got there and found out they were wrong, they wouldn’t have time to correct themselves.
The solstice deadline would pass and war would begin.
“The answer is in the Underworld,” Phaedra assured Percy. “You saw spirits of the dead, Percy. There’s only one place that could be. We’re doing the right thing.” Although she wasn't so sure about that.
Annabeth tried to boost their morale by suggesting clever strategies for getting into the Land of the Dead, but nobody's heart wasn’t in it. There were just too many unknown factors. It was like cramming for a test without knowing the subject. And they had done that enough times.
The cab sped west. Every gust of wind through Death Valley sounded like a spirit of the dead. The brakes hissed on an eighteen-wheeler.
At sunset, the taxi dropped them at the beach in Santa Monica. It looked exactly the way L.A. beaches do in the movies, only it smelled worse. 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.
Grover, Annabeth, Percy, and Phaedra walked down to the edge of the surf.
“What now?” Annabeth asked. The Pacific was turning gold in the setting sun.
Percy stepped into the surf.
“Percy?” Phaedra said. “What are you doing?”
He kept walking, up to his waist, then his chest.
She called after him, “You know how polluted that water is? There’re all kinds of toxic—”
That’s when his head went under.
"That's nasty, that water is disgusting. He better come back up not smelling like that water, cause I will not stand next to him if he does." Phaedra said to Annabeth, which made her laugh, and Grover shook his head.
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