𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑, 𝐏𝐉

𝟎𝟏𝟑

Juliet could see right through their bodies. The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so we they to look up at Charon. 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. He really was hot for a boat guy.

"Your name is Chiron?" Percy asked as always stupidly.

Charon leaned across the desk. Juliet couldn't see anything in his glasses except her own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a python's, right before it eats you. Okay, that was kinda...

"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.

"Sir," Percy said, Juliet almost swooned for a second there. Charon 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?"

His question caught in Juliet's stomach like a fastball.

Percy looked at Annabeth and Juliet for support. "We want to go the Underworld," Annabeth said.

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

"It is?" Juliet asked.

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

Percy nudged Grover.

"Oh," he said. "Um . . . drowned . . . in the bathtub."

"All four of you?" Charon asked.

They 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 three golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash he'd found in Crusty's office desk.

"Well, now . . ." Charon moistened his lips. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in . . ." His fingers hovered greedily over the coins.

They were so close. Then Charon looked at Percy. That cold stare behind his glasses seemed to bore a hole through my 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 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, lighting cigarettes, running hands through their hair, or checking their wristwatches.

"Leave while you can," Charon told them. "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."