Advisor's Son

Chapter 6 Annabeth the Resident Demon Dog Tamer

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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.

Perse turned to us. “Okay. You remember the plan?”

“The plan,” Grover gulped. “Yeah. I love the plan.”

Annabeth said, “What happens if the plan doesn’t work?”

“Don’t think negatively.”

“Right,” she said. “We’re entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn’t think negatively.’

Perse took the pearls out of her pocket, the three milky spheres the Nereid had given her in Santa Monica. They didn’t seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong, but hey magic comes in all forms I suppose, and it wasn't my backup... what is mine?

Annabeth put her hand on Perse’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Perse. You’re right, we’ll make it. It’ll be fine.”

She gave Grover a nudge.

“Oh, right!” she chimed in. “We got this far. We’ll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem.”

“And I’ll figure out what voodoo the Tome of Fates have.” I smiled while holding said book.

Perse looked at us with a grateful look then slipped the pearls back in her pocket. “Let’s whoop some Underworld butt.”

We walked inside the DOA lobby.

Music played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking… transparent. I could see right through their bodies. Guess these people were all dead.

The security guard’s desk was a raised podium, so we had to look up at her. Well I tend to have to look up at people anyways, so no real change here for me.

She was tall and elegant, with chocolate-coloured skin and bleached-blond hair shaved at the sides. She wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched her hair. A black rose was pinned to her lapel under a silver name tag.

I read the name tag, then looked at her, “Charon, isn’t that a ferryman not a secretary?”

She leaned across the desk. I couldn’t see anything in her glasses except my own reflection, but her smile was sweet and cold, like a python, right before it eats you.

“What a precious young lad.” She had a strange accent – British, maybe, but also as if she had learned English as a second language. “You’d be right, I am the ferryman, but due to modernization I had to become a secretary as well, no pay raise of course.” She muttered the last bit bitterly.

“Well lad how may I help you little dead ones?” She asked as she examined the four of us.

Her question caught in my stomach like a fastball. I looked at Annabeth for support.