Golden Girl: The Missing Piece (2)

29- We Misrepresent the Biker Community

Hermes had provided the demigod trio with the world's crappiest Ford Fiesta. Chipped paint, squeaky belt, slowly deflating tires and all. But he was telling the truth, as soon as Garrett got the car onto the road, they suddenly appeared at the edge of an ocean, close enough for the waves to kiss the front bumper.

They all got out of the car cautiously, staring at the ocean with confusion and concern.

"Well, what are we supposed to do now?" Wes gestured helplessly at the beach around them.

"Dunno," Ember admitted.

"Do we have to ask for entrance?" Her brother questioned, directing it at no one in particular.

Garrett looked down at the sand, "Uh, we would like to request access to the Underworld."

They waited, but nothing happened.

Wes snickered at Garrett, "Bet that felt stupid."

Garrett just glared at the blond. Ember huffed and shoved her hands into her pockets. And froze.

There was something in her pocket that she hadn't put there. A bit of paper, a scrap more than anything. She pulled it out. It was written in Ancient Greek. She read it out loud.

Go to DOA Recording Studios -H

She looked up, understanding, "Hermes put this in my pocket."

Wes shrugged, "He is the god of thieves. You should probably be glad he didn't take something from your pocket."

She patted her pockets, hoping that the only reason they were empty was because she'd put everything in her backpack.

"Well, let's go to DOA, I guess," Garrett said, starting off walking towards a path that led away from the beach.

The lobby of DOA studios was somewhat... cold. In Ember's mind, music was so deeply intertwined with vibrant things, color and art, that the steel gray walls and carpet were a shock. There were a ton of people inside, sitting on various black leather couches, standing by the walls, staring out the windows at nothing. No one was talking, that was the oddest part.

Well, it would have been the oddest part, if Ember hadn't noticed that they all had a translucent quality about them. She got the feeling that she could reach her hand right through the stomach of anyone in there, if she tried.

The dude at the front desk was a whole collection of contradictions. Tall and lanky, dressed in a firmly pressed suit, he would have presented a rather dashing image if it weren't for the crazy spiked blond hair or fashionable sunglasses that he had hooked on his shirt collar.

Ember caught Garrett squinting confusedly at the man's name tag, before he gave up and slipped on the glasses she'd gotten him for Christmas.

The son of Ares looked up at the desk guy with wide eyes, "You're Charon?"

Oh. Ember supposed it made sense, if this were the entrance to the Underworld, for the gatekeeper to be the desk agent. He didn't look as she'd always pictured him though, shrouded in dark cloaks and speaking in a harsh whisper. No, when he did speak, it was straightforward, clear, and... British?

"Yes, I do indeed, go by the name 'Charon'. You can call me 'Mr. Charon.' What can I do for you dead ones? Dead-lings? I'm never sure how to say it."

Ember glanced between the two boys, "Uh, we want to go to the Underworld, if it's no trouble, Mr. Charon."

Or even if it is trouble, she wanted to add, but restrained herself from saying.

The dude's blond eyebrows lifted, "It's less trouble when you just say it straightforward like that! How nice is it to not deal with the whining? So young, though... what brought about your death?"