In this universe the Gray Sisters operate in southern California instead of New York. I think they're more in theme with the Underworld anyway and ive got no plans to use them in the future, even with the beginning of the Sea of Monsters
"We were supposed to have seven days," Annabeth muttered. She was gripping her necklace so tightly Percy thought she might snap the cord. "Now we have less than two to find the bolt and get it back to Olympus."
Percy tried to sound confident. "We're not out of time yet. If we keep moving, we can still-"
Annabeth's eyes lit up. "Wait. Wait!"
She practically tore open her backpack, rifling through it until she pulled out a handful of gold drachmas. She flicked one into the street and shouted, "Anakoche, Harma Epitribeios!" which Percy understood as "Stop, Chariot of Damnation!"
He blinked. "What? Is there some kind of godly taxi service?"
A ghostly car horn blared in the distance. Two floating lights from behind the skyline, zipping around unpredictably before locking into place like headlights. A cloud of smoke engulfed them as the lights skidded to a stop by the curb.
Percy coughed, wafting his nose as the smoke cleared. "No fucking shot."
The taxi was ancient. Ghostly gray, the kind of car that should've been scrapped decades ago. Painted on the side were words his dyslexia made impossible to read, but it looked like something close to "GYAR STIRSES."
The front seat was crammed with three old ladies, their faces hidden in shadows. The driver rolled down the window and rasped, "No dollars, no credit cards. Drachmas only."
"Percy, meet the godly taxi service," Annabeth said as she hopped into the back seat like nothing was out of the ordinary. He and Grover exchanged a glance before climbing in the other side.
"Passage, passage?" the driver asked, never turning her head to face them.
"Los Angeles," Annabeth said, sliding three more drachmas forward. "Extra if you get us there fast."
"Honey," the driver cackled, slamming her foot on the gas, "you came to the right place."
The cab took off like a slingshot. The Vegas lights disappeared in an instant, replaced by a blur of desert. A dust-caked screen flickered to life on the back of the front
middle seat. A cheerful, glowy guy appeared, smiling like a game show host.
"Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up!"
Percy searched for a seatbelt. The only thing remotely close was a rusty black chain.
He clamped his hands onto the seat instead and prayed the car wouldn't flip.
The ride across the Mojave Desert was terrifying, but at least it was flat. The Gray Sisters didn't exactly follow the roads, but they somehow didn't crash. It was when they finally reached Los Angeles that things got really bad.
"Right! Turn right!" the middle sister screeched.
The driver yanked the wheel, sending the cab skidding onto the freeway at an angle that should not have been possible.
"If you would give me the eye, Tempest, I could see where we're going!" the driver snapped.
Percy blinked. "Wait- The eye?"
Before anyone could answer, the driver made another blind turn.
"You fool!" the middle sister shrieked, smacking her on the head. "Wait for my instruction!"
The third sister piped up, "Wasp! Give me the girl's coin! I want to bite it."
"You bit it last time, Anger!" Wasp snapped. "It's my turn!"
"Is not!" yelled Anger.
Percy groaned. "Oh, gods…"
"Don't worry!" they chorused. "We wouldn't be driving if we weren't licensed!"
"Can you see where you're going?" Percy asked sarcastically. He hadn't expected them to respond.
"NO!" Wasp and Anger yelled.
His head snapped toward Annabeth. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
"Not completely. They have one eye."
"Each?"
"...Total. Don't worry. The Gray Sisters are very wise," Annabeth muttered, not sounding confident at all. "They know what they're doing."
Percy just stared at her.
"They're also fast," she added, gripping the grab handle with the strength of a gorilla.
Percy bit back a gag as they flew past a red light. "Don't you think maybe the driver should have the eyeball?"
A long pause. Then, like it was the most brilliant idea in the world:
"The kid's a genius," Wasp declared. "Of course the driver should get the eye!"
The cab swerved wildly, nearly slamming into a semi-truck. Grover groaned, his face turning green, when an old light flickered to life on the roof.
We are not responsible for any motion sickness, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, death, etc. Any damages or stains must be paid in full by the responsible party.
"I hate everything," he huffed.
When they finally screeched to a halt, the car rattled so hard that Percy thought it might explode into spare parts.
Annabeth threw a handful of drachmas into the front and bolted out. Grover scrambled after her. Both of them barely made it to a trash can before emptying their stomachs.
Percy stumbled to the driver's window, swallowing down nausea. "So, uh… you seem to know your way around."
The sisters giggled.
"We know lots of things!" Tempest exclaimed.
"Every street in Manhattan!" Anger said.
"The capital of Nepal!" Wasp finished.
"Right. Any chance you know where the entrance to the Underworld is?"
The sisters whispered among themselves. Then they grinned and all turned to him at once.
"You already know."
Before Percy could protest, the cab peeled out, dissolving into mist as its headlights spiraled up into the stormy sky. And not a moment too soon. It was his turn to go puke.
"There is no way you're eating right now," he coughed as Grover fished around in his pack.
He grumbled something under his breath about stress eating before his face lit up. "I knew it! Guys, check this out!"
He pulled a piece of paper from his pack, crumpled after all the crazy driving but still readable.
"DOA Recording Studios," Annabeth read, "What of it?"
"This is that paper Demeter left behind!" he exclaimed, "I bet this place has a clue on how to get to the Underworld!"
Half of Percy wanted to head for it right away. The other half needed a thirty minute breather before he could trust his legs to function properly.
Annabeth found a map for them, and following the address took them to Valencia Street.
"Interesting location," Percy hummed as they stared at the sign from across the street. Just across the road was a car wash, and right next door, a law school bookstore.
Grover double checked the addressed paper. "I know I said clue, but with a sign like that? This has to be the entrance to the Underworld."
Just below the gold letters in black marble reading DOA Recording Studios hung a sign that read, "NO SOLICITORS, NO LOITERING, NO LIVING."
It was almost midnight by this point, but the lobby was still packed. A guy stood on a podium in the very back of the room, right next to an elevator door. He looked tough, with dark skin, a military cut head of bleach blonde hair, sunglasses, and a fresh pressed Italian suit.
"That must be Charon," Annabeth said, "The ferryman. He carries souls across the river Styx to the Underworld."
"What's the plan?" Grover asked, "because I'm not going down there without a plan."
Percy turned to Annabeth only to realize she was staring at him expectantly. "You want me to make the plan? Your mom is the goddess of battle strategy."
"Oh, I've got a plan. I'm just trying to figure out if you can pull off a leather jacket…"
Percy adjusted the jacket he'd swiped from a ghost in the waiting area, trying not to think about the fact that it was slightly transparent.
"This is a bad plan," he muttered.
Annabeth, standing beside him in an oversized trench coat she'd stolen from a particularly clueless specter, gave him an exasperated look. "It's a brilliant plan. You just have to act dead."
"Yeah, slight problem with that, I'm not!"
Grover was sweating bullets. "What if he asks for my death certificate? Do ghosts have IDs? Oh gods, what if he realizes I still have a pulse?"
"Then stop breathing so hard," Annabeth hissed.
Percy swallowed hard. The plan was simple: blend in with the crowd, slip past Charon unnoticed, and get onto the boat without any unnecessary conflict. Easy, right?
As they inched closer, Percy tried to get into character. "Okay," he whispered. "I was a rock star who died on stage-"
"You're twelve years old, you are not a rock star who died on stage," Annabeth muttered.
"Fine. Then I choked on a-"
"Just don't talk," Annabeth snapped as they finally stepped up to the counter.
Charon slowly looked up from his magazine, giving them a long, unimpressed stare through his sunglasses. "Next."
Annabeth, keeping her head slightly bowed, stepped up first.
Charon returned to his magazine, absently saying, "Names."
Annabeth steeled herself with a huff. "We're just part of the new arrivals. You know how the system is. So backed up. The processing files are a mess, everything's late, and-"
Charon held up a hand. "I'm not one for rambling. Just tell me how you died."
Percy panicked.
"Fell into a fireplace," he blurted before he could stop himself. "My very mortal body just couldn't handle the… comfort."
Charon raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"
"Big fireplace."
He could feel Annabeth's glare on his back. He didn't need to look. He knew that had been possibly the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life.
Charon's eyebrows furrowed behind his sunglasses. "As amusing as this is… Do you have any idea how many souls I see a day?"
Percy gulped. "Uh-"
"I've been working this job for thousands of years. You really think I wouldn't immediately recognize three living, breathing children among these transparent drifters? I noticed the moment you stepped in the lobby."
Annabeth gave Grover and Percy an apologetic glance. "So… what now?"
"Now? You pay me like normal, and I let you in."
Percy blinked. "That's it?"
Even through his sunglasses Percy could still see the wicked glint that appeared. "Of course. Wouldn't you know it, the big man wants to see you. Been expecting you for a while now, actually."
"He wants to see… me?" Percy asked, dumbfounded. "Why would he want that?"
"Mate, I don't get paid enough to care."
"Wait," Annabeth shook her head, "You mean we could have just walked in?"
"With payment, of course. I have a strict personal policy about freeloaders."
She sighed and began searching for payment in her backpack, but Percy grabbed her shoulder.
"This is too easy," he whispered, "Why would they let us into the Underworld without a fight?"
"We don't have much of a choice," she hissed, "You remember the prophecy, don't you? If we don't return the master bolt, the world is doomed."
She frowned something awful and fished out three gold drachma from her back before smacking them on the counter. "Thanks," she grumbled.
Charon grinned as he swiped the coins into his pocket and held a hand out. The elevator opened as he did, revealing that it was mostly packed with spirits already. He hopped out from behind his podium and shoved a crowd of specters away from the door. "Anxious, these ones are. Been saving these last few spots for you three."
As they shuffled toward the elevator, Annabeth seethed. "We spent an hour preparing that."
"An hour," Grover echoed.
Charon stepped in last, shouting a warning to the remaining spirits in the lobby about leaving his radio station alone, before pulling a keycard from his pocket and inserting it into the panel. It descended as slowly as any other elevator, but the lower the floor number got, the more dread crept into Percy's heart.
All of a sudden the elevator lurched, changing direction like the trams in the Gateway Arch, but more violent. They were moving forward.
"Welcome to the Underworld," Charon rumbled, and the landscape shifted. The elevator vanished. The air turned cold and heavy, like the news of some great tragedy was to soon be broken to everyone. The other spirits's clothes began shifting, fading into black robes that made everyone look identical. No defining features remained.
"I hate the smell of the underground," Grover muttered.
Charon began humming a tune. Something soft and sad. Percy turned to look at him, and nearly jumped out of his skin. The ferryman looked like an entirely different person. A wide brimmed hat obscured most of his now skeletal face. He wore a black cloak trimmed in gold and a necklace of silver obols. He slowly, dutifully dipped his oar into the murky blue waters below, pushing aside scrapped toys and college diplomas, memos about unreceived promotions or torn up wedding contracts.
"The River Styx," Annabeth murmured.
"Where dreams go to die," Charon sighed.
"It's like the Mississippi river," Percy said, though his voice sounded distant. "So polluted."
Without thinking, he reached a hand down to skim the waters. For a moment, the refuse cleared from the surface, and it seemed as if someone, deep in the river, was staring back at him.
His hand glanced against the water. An arm reached up and met him at the fingertips, and a silhouetted image flashed across his eyes.
Someone locking him in a chokehold, holding Riptide, and forcing a liquid down his throat.
"Percy!"
Annabeth yanked him back so hard he nearly fell off the other side of the boat. "What are you doing?! Don't you know what happens if you touch the waters?!"
He shook his head, and Annabeth scowled down at his hand. His fingertips burned a sickly gray, slowly fading but aching like nothing he had ever felt in his life.
She didn't let go of his hand the entire rest of the ferry ride, and he didn't blame her. Even if he hadn't nearly had his soul sucked out, the atmosphere was oppressively silent. Sometimes he swore he could hear the whispers of the dead, others there were no sounds at all. Not even his own breathing.
The fog hovering over the river began to clear as they approached the shoreline. The Underworld stretched endlessly in every direction, a wasteland of shadows and crumbling rock. There was no wind and yet no warmth. Only unsettling silence.
Percy glanced upward. The "sky" was nothing more than a cavern ceiling, draped with crimson stalactites and hanging black chains.
"Face the god who has turned under blood red skies," he muttered to himself.
The ferry dug into a black sand beach in silence and the dead began to disembark the ship. A mother and child. An elderly couple. A boy even younger than Percy himself.
Charon's voice made him jump. "Up you pop. I'd tell you good luck, but it'd do you little good. Only prayers that matter down here are those to Hades."
"Wait, I thought you said Hades wanted to see us?" Percy asked as they stepped onto the desolate shore.
Charon chuckled darkly. "I said he wanted to see you. Didn't say it was going to be easy."
He pushed his ferry off the shore and began rowing away, humming that tune again. He never looked back. The fog swallowed him, and just like that, their only way out was gone.