THEY’D ONLY TRAVELED a few hundred yards when Annabeth heard voices.
Annabeth plodded along, half in a stupor, trying to form a plan. Since she was a daughter of Athena, plans were supposed to be her specialty; but it was hard to strategize with her stomach growling and her throat baking. The fiery water of the Phlegethon may have healed her and given her strength, but it didn’t do anything for her hunger or thirst. The river wasn’t about making you feel good, Annabeth guessed. It just kept you going so you could experience more excruciating pain.
Her head started to droop with exhaustion. Then she heard them—female voices having some sort of argument—and she was instantly alert.
She whispered, “Percy, down!”
She pulled him behind the nearest boulder, wedging herself so close against the riverbank that her shoes almost touched the river’s fire. On the other side, in the narrow path between the river and the cliffs, voices snarled, getting louder as they approached from upstream.
Annabeth tried to steady her breathing. The voices sounded vaguely human, but that meant nothing. She assumed anything in Tartarus was their enemy. She didn’t know how the monsters could have failed to spot them already. Besides, monsters could smell demigods—especially powerful ones like Percy, son of Poseidon. Annabeth doubted that hiding behind a boulder would do any good when the monsters caught their scent.
Still, as the monsters got nearer, their voices didn’t change in tone. Their uneven footsteps—scrap, clump, scrap, clump—didn’t get any faster.
“Soon?” one of them asked in a raspy voice, as if she’d been gargling in the Phlegethon.
“Oh my gods!” said another voice. This one sounded much younger and much more human, like a teenaged mortal girl getting exasperated with her friends at the mall. For some reason, she sounded familiar to Annabeth. “You guys are totally annoying! I told you, it’s like three days from here.”
Percy gripped Annabeth’s wrist. He looked at her with alarm, as if he recognized the mall girl’s voice too.
There was a chorus of growling and grumbling. The creatures—maybe half a dozen, Annabeth guessed—had paused just on the other side of the boulder, but still they gave no indication that they’d caught the demigods’ scent. Annabeth wondered if demigods didn’t smell the same in Tartarus, or if the other scents here were so powerful, they masked a demigod’s aura.
“I wonder,” said a third voice, gravelly and ancient like the first, “if perhaps you do not know the way, young one.”
“Oh, shut your fang hole, Serephone,” said the mall girl. “When’s the last time you escaped to the mortal world? I was there a couple of years ago. I know the way! Besides, I understand what we’re facing up there. You don’t have a clue!”
“The Earth Mother did not make you boss!” shrieked a fourth voice.
More hissing, scuffling, and feral moans—like giant alley cats fighting. At last the one called Serephone yelled, “Enough!”
The scuffling died down.
“We will follow for now,” Serephone said. “But if you do not lead us well, if we find you have lied about the summons of Gaea—”
“I don’t lie!” snapped the mall girl. “Believe me, I’ve got good reason to get into this battle. I have some enemies to devour, and you’ll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one special morsel for me—the one named Percy Jackson.”
Annabeth fought down a snarl of her own. She forgot about her fear. She wanted to jump over the boulder and slash the monsters to dust with her knife…except she didn’t have it anymore.
“Believe me,” said the mall girl. “Gaea has called us, and we’re going to have so much fun. Before this war is over, mortals and demigods will tremble at the sound of my name—Kelli!”
Annabeth almost yelped aloud. She glanced at Percy. Even in the red light of the Phlegethon, his face seemed waxy.
Empousai, she mouthed. Vampires.
Percy nodded grimly.
She remembered Kelli. Two years ago, at Percy’s freshman orientation, he and their friend Rachel Dare had been attacked by empousai disguised as cheerleaders. One of them had been Kelli. Later, the same empousa had attacked them in Daedalus’s workshop. Annabeth had stabbed her in the back and sent her…here. To Tartarus.
The creatures shuffled off, their voices getting fainter. Annabeth crept to the edge of the boulder and risked a glimpse. Sure enough, five women staggered along on mismatched legs—mechanical bronze on the left, shaggy and cloven-hooved on the right. Their hair was made of fire, their skin as white as bone. Most of them wore tattered Ancient Greek dresses, except for the one in the lead, Kelli, who wore a burned and torn blouse with a short pleated skirt…her cheerleader’s outfit.
Annabeth gritted her teeth. She had faced a lot of bad monsters over the years, but she hated empousai more than most.
In addition to their nasty claws and fangs, they had a powerful ability to manipulate the Mist. They could change shape and charmspeak, tricking mortals into letting down their guard. Men were especially susceptible. The empousa’s favorite tactic was to make a guy fall in love with her, then drink his blood and devour his flesh. Not a great first date.
Kelli had almost killed Percy. She had manipulated Annabeth’s oldest friend, Luke, urging him to commit darker and darker deeds in the name of Kronos.
Annabeth really wished she still had her dagger.
Percy rose. “They’re heading for the Doors of Death,” he murmured. “You know what that means?”
Annabeth didn’t want to think about it, but sadly, this squad of flesh-eating horror-show women might be the closest thing to good luck they were going to get in Tartarus.
“Yeah,” she said. “We need to follow them.”
