IF THE SOBBING ghoul was Bob's idea of help, Brooklyn was pretty sure she didn't want it.

Nevertheless, she trudged forward. She felt obliged to follow. If nothing else, this area was less dark — not exactly light, but with more of a soupy white fog.

"Akhlys!" Bob called.

The creature raised her head, and Brooklyn's stomach screamed, do not!

The creature's body was bad enough. She looked like the victim of a famine — limbs like sticks, swollen knees and knobby elbows, rags for clothes, broken fingernails and toenails. Dust was caked on her skin and piled on her shoulders as if she'd taken a shower at the bottom of an hourglass.

Her face was utter desolation. Her eyes were sunken and rheumy, pouring out tears. Her nose dripped like a waterfall. Her stringy gray hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she'd been clawing herself.

Brooklyn couldn't stand to meet her eyes, so she lowered her gaze. Across her knees lay an ancient shield — a battered circle of wood and bronze, painted with the likeness of Akhlys herself holding a shield, so the image seemed to go on forever, smaller and smaller.

"That shield," Annabeth murmured. "That's his. I thought it was just a story."

"Oh, no," the old hag wailed. "The shield of Hercules. He painted me on its surface, so his enemies would see me in their final moments — the goddess of misery." She coughed so hard, it made Brooklyn's chest hurt. "As if Hercules knew true misery. It's not even a good likeness!"

Brooklyn grimaced. When she, her brother, and his girlfriend had encountered Hercules at the Straits of Gibraltar, it hadn't gone well. The exchange had involved a lot of swimming, death threats, and high-velocity pineapples.

"What's his shield doing here?" she asked.

The goddess stared at her with her wet milky eyes. Her cheeks dripped blood, making red polka dots on her tattered dress. "He doesn't need it anymore, does he? It came here when his mortal body was burned. A reminder, I suppose, that no shield is sufficient. In the end, misery overtakes all of you. Even Hercules."

Brooklyn inched closer to Percy and Annabeth. She tried to remember why they were here, but the sense of despair made it difficult to think. Hearing Akhlys speak, Brooklyn no longer found it strange that she had clawed her own cheeks. The goddess radiated pure pain.

"Bob," Percy said, "we shouldn't have come here."

From somewhere inside Bob's uniform, the skeleton kitten mewled in agreement.

The Titan shifted and winced as if Small Bob was clawing his armpit. "Akhlys controls the Death Mist," he insisted. "She can hide you."

"Hide them?" Akhlys made a gurgling sound. She was either laughing or choking to death. "Why would I do that?"

"They must reach the Doors of Death," Bob said. "To return to the mortal world."

"Impossible!" Akhlys said. "The armies of Tartarus will find you. They will kill you."

Annabeth turned the blade of her drakon-bone sword, which Brooklyn had to admit made her look pretty intimidating and hot in a "Barbarian Princess" kind of way. "So I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then," she said.

The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"

"A daughter of Athena." Annabeth's voice sounded brave — though how she did it, Brooklyn didn't know. "I didn't walk halfway across Tartarus to be told what's impossible by some minor goddess."

The dust quivered at their feet. Fog swirled around them with a sound like agonized wailing.

"Minor goddess?" Akhlys's gnarled fingernails dug into Hercules's shield, gouging the metal. "I was old before the Titans were born, you ignorant girl. I was old when Gaea first woke. Misery is eternal. Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones — of Chaos and Night. I was—"

"Yes, yes," Annabeth said. "Sadness and misery, blah blah blah. But you still don't have enough power to hide three demigods with your Death Mist. Like I said: useless."

Percy cleared his throat. "Uh, Annabeth—"

She flashed him and Brooklyn a warning look: work with me. She realized how terrified she was, but they had no choice. This was their best shot at stirring the goddess into action.

"I mean . . . Annabeth is right!" Percy volunteered. "Bob brought us all this way because he thought you could help. But I guess you're too busy staring at that shield and crying. I can't blame you. It looks just like you."

Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict these annoying children on me?"

Bob made a sound somewhere between a rumble and a whimper. "I thought — I thought—"

"The Death Mist is not for helping!" Akhlys shrieked. "It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair!"

"Awesome," said Brooklyn. "Could we get two orders of that to go?"

Akhlys hissed. "Ask me for a more sensible gift. I am also the goddess of poisons. I could give you death — thousands of ways to die less painful than the one you have chosen by marching into the heart of the pit."

Around the goddess, flowers bloomed in the dust — dark purple, orange, and red blossoms that smelled sickly sweet. Brooklyn's vision swam.

"Nightshade," Akhlys offered. "Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane, or strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."

"That's very nice of you," Percy said. "But I've had enough poison for one trip. Now, can you hide us in your Death Mist, or not?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Brooklyn said.

The goddess's eyes narrowed. "Fun?"

"Sure," Annabeth promised before Brooklyn could say anything stupid. "If we fail, think how great it will be for you, gloating over our spirits when we die in agony. You'll get to say 'I told you so' for eternity."

"Or, if we succeed," Percy added, "think of all the suffering you'll bring to the monsters down here. We intend to seal the Doors of Death. That's going to cause a lot of wailing and moaning."

Akhlys considered that. "I enjoy suffering. Wailing is also good."

"Then it's settled," Brooklyn said. "Make us invisible."

Akhlys struggled to her feet. The shield of Hercules rolled away and wobbled to a stop in a patch of poison flowers. "It is not so simple," the goddess said. "The Death Mist comes at the moment you are closest to your end. Your eyes will be clouded only then. The world will fade."

Percy's eyebrows furrowed. "Okay. But . . . we'll be shrouded from the monsters?"

"Oh, yes," Akhlys said. "If you survive the process, you will be able to pass unnoticed among the armies of Tartarus. It is hopeless, of course, but if you are determined, then come. I will show you the way."

"The way to where, exactly?" Annabeth asked.

The goddess was already shuffling into the gloom.

Brooklyn turned to look at Bob, but the Titan was gone. How does a ten-foot-tall silver dude with a very loud kitten disappear?

"Hey!" Percy yelled to Akhlys. "Where's our friend?"

"He cannot take this path," the goddess called back. "He is not mortal. Come, little fools. Come experience the Death Mist."

Brooklyn exhaled and grabbed Percy's hand. "Well . . . yolo!"

Annabeth scrunched up her nose. "Why do you say that so much?"

"Every time I make a decision, I hear a voice in my head telling me: yolo!" Brooklyn shrugged. "So I take that advice to heart."

Percy raised their hands, pressing hers to his chapped lips. "That voice is definitely me."

"I hate you both," Annabeth muttered, before walking ahead. Brooklyn and Percy snickered before they followed the goddess's dusty footprints through the poison flowers, deeper into the fog.

* * *

Brooklyn missed Bob.

She'd gotten used to having the Titan on her side, lighting their way with his silver hair and his fearsome war broom.

Now their only guide was an emaciated corpse lady with serious self-esteem issues.

As they struggled across the dusty plain, the fog became so thick that Brooklyn had to resist the urge to swat it away with her hands. The only reason she was able to follow Akhlys's path was because of Percy and Annabeth leading her.

Finally they arrived at wherever they were supposed to be. The fog dissipated, and they found themselves on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.

"Here we are." Akhlys turned and leered at them. Blood from her cheeks dripped on her dress. Her sickly eyes looked moist and swollen but somehow excited. Can Misery look excited?

"Uh . . . cool," Brooklyn wrinkled her nose. "Where is here?"

"The verge of final death," Akhlys said. "Where Night meets the void below Tartarus."

Annabeth inched forward and peered over the cliff. "I thought there was nothing below Tartarus."

"Oh, certainly there is . . ." Akhlys coughed. "Even Tartarus had to rise from somewhere. This is the edge of the earliest darkness, which was my mother. Below lies the realm of Chaos, my father. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been. Can you not feel it?"

Brooklyn knew what she meant. The void seemed to be pulling at her, leaching the breath from her lungs and the oxygen from her blood. Her fingertips were tinged blue.

"We can't stay here," Percy said.

"No, indeed!" Akhlys said. "Don't you feel the Death Mist? Even now, you pass between. Look!"

White smoke gathered around Brooklyn's feet. As it coiled up her legs, she realized the smoke wasn't surrounding her. It was coming from her. Her whole body was dissolving. She held up her hands and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. She couldn't even tell how many fingers she had. Hopefully still ten.

"You're — uh—" Percy said, though to who, Brooklyn didn't know, but she looked up anyway.

They both looked dead, which sallow skin, dark and sunken eye sockets, and cobweb hair. Brooklyn longed to ruffle Percy's hair, but his old hair. He and Annabeth both looked like mummies, kind of — if mummies didn't have their wrappings or whatever. Their features were blurry the more Brooklyn looked at them.

"Oh, gods," Annabeth sobbed. "Brooks, Percy, the way you look . . ."

"I dunno what you're on about, we look great," Brooklyn said, trying to take a couple of steps. "Well, I can't walk very well, but I'm all right."

Akhlys clucked. "Oh, you're definitely not all right."

Percy was smiling, for some strange reason. "But we'll pass unseen now? We can get to the Doors of Death?"

"Well, perhaps you could," the goddess said, "if you lived that long, which you won't."

Akhlys spread her gnarled fingers. More plants bloomed along the edge of the pit — hemlock, nightshade, and oleander spreading toward Brooklyn's feet like a deadly carpet. "The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, you see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed — true death."

"It's a trap," Annabeth said.

The goddess cackled. "Didn't you expect me to betray you?"

"Yes," Annabeth, Percy, and Brooklyn said together.

"Well, then, it was hardly a trap! More of an inevitability. Misery is inevitable. Pain is—"

"Yeah, yeah," Percy growled. "Let's get to the fighting."

He drew Riptide, but the blade was made of smoke. When he slashed at Akhlys, the sword just floated across her like a gentle breeze.

The goddess's ruined mouth split into a grin. "Did I forget to mention? You are only mist now — a shadow before death. Perhaps if you had time, you could learn to control your new form. But you do not have time. Since you cannot touch me, I fear any fight with Misery will be quite one-sided."

Her fingernails grew into talons. Her jaw unhinged, and her yellow teeth elongated into fangs.