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CHAPTER TWELVE ( dead on arrival )
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IT TOOK LESS than I expected to find DOA, since Annabeth threw me into the fire by saying I could lead us because I lived here and probably still remembered the names of the streets. Luckily, after a few minutes, we stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: 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 back to face us. "Okay. You remember the plan."
"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."
Annabeth's eyebrows were knitted in concern, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"
"Don't think negative."
"Right," she nodded slowly. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative."
I remembered the pearls that the Nereid had given Percy back at the beach, and I tried to hope everything went smoothly so we wouldn't have to use them. We were already so close to our finish line and had gone through a lot of setbacks to get here, so the least the universe could do was help us out now. But when has a half-blood ever received that much help?
Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."
"Yeah," I agreed, trying to hide my own nervousness. "Considering what we went through, this should be a piece of cake."
Annabeth gave Grover a nudge.
"Oh, right!" he chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."
Percy lifted his head, confident. "Let's whoop some Underworld butt."
We walked inside the DOA lobby. Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray and there were pencil cactuses growing in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. It looked like the waiting room of the dentist's office. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. But the strange thing was that nobody moved, talked, or flicked through magazines. I could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them specifically, they started looking. . . transparent. I could see right through their bodies.
