"𝚟𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚗" | 𝚙. 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

Stelle handed them water. "Was it your dad?"

Percy was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time he'd dreamed about the evil voice from the pit. But it bothered him so much he finally told them. 

"There was this... voice in a hole."

The two waited expectantly. When the boy didn't elaborate, Stelle said, "Well? A voice in a hole?"

"It was a big hole." He said blankly.

"Gods, Percy."

Eventually he regained his average ability of description, in which he told of gray mist creatures churning around him, whispering rags of smoke. They tugged at his clothes, imploring him to go back. But he had to walk to the very edge of the gaping chasm.

The pit yawned so huge and black, Percy said he was nearly sure it was bottomless. And yet there was something trying to get out of the dark abyss.

A voice spoke to him, right there and then. It felt ancient- cold, heavy. It wrapped around him like sheets of lead. It asked him to barter. As shimmering image: his mother, frozen at the moment she dissolved in a shower of gold. Her face was distorted with pain, eyes pleading for Percy to leave.

That, Stelle did not need for Percy to describe. She could see it in her head, clear as day.

Cold laughter echoed from the chasm. An invisible force tried to pull him forward. It would drag him into the pit if he didn't hold firm. The dead stirred, telling him to wake- and he realized that the thing wasn't pulling him in. It was using him to get out.

Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "That doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs."

"But who else has dealings in the dead?" Stelle murmured.

"I guess ... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?"

Percy shook his head, wishing he knew the answer. He thought about what Grover had told him, that the Furies on the bus seemed to have been looking for something. 

'Where is it? Where?"

Maybe Grover sensed his emotions. He snorted in his sleep, muttered something about vegetables, and turned his head. Stelle readjusted his cap so it covered his horns. 

Annabeth said, "Percy, you can't barter with Hades. You know that, right? He's deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time-"

"This time?" he cut in, "So you've met them before?"

Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens. "Let's just say I've got no love for the Lord of the Dead. You can't be tempted to make a deal for your mom."

"What would you do if it were your dad?"

"That's easy." she said, "I'd leave him to rot."

"You're not serious?"

Annabeth's gray eyes fixed on Percy. She wore the same expression she'd worn in the woods at camp, the moment she drew her sword against the hellhound. "My dad's resented me since the day I was born, Percy," she said.

"He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes had to be raised by their mortal parent." Her tone was bitter, rightly so.