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car’s tyres had come off and was floating in a back-water eddy of the Cocytus. The Fiat’s windows had shattered, sending brighter glass like frosting across the dark beach. Under the crushed hood lay the tattered, glistening remains of a giant silk cocoon – the trap that Annabeth had tricked Arachne into weaving. It was unmistakably empty. Slash marks in the sand made a trail downriver … as if something heavy, with multiple legs, had scuttled into the darkness.
    ‘She’s alive.’ Annabeth was so horrified, so outraged by the unfairness of it all, she had to suppress the urge to throw up.
    ‘It’s Tartarus,’ Percy said. ‘Monster home court. Down here, maybe they can’t be killed.’
    He gave Annabeth an embarrassed look, as if realizing he wasn’t helping team morale. ‘Or maybe she’s badly wounded, and she crawled away to die.’
    ‘Let’s go with that,’ Annabeth agreed.
    Percy was still shivering. Annabeth wasn’t feeling any warmer either, despite the hot, sticky air. The glass cuts on her hands were still bleeding, which was unusual for her. Normally, she healed fast. Her breathing got more and more laboured.
    ‘This place is killing us,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s
literally
going to kill us, unless …’
    Tartarus. Fire.
That distant memory came into focus. She gazed inland towards the cliff, illuminated by flames from below.
    It was an absolutely crazy idea. But it might be their only chance.
    ‘Unless what?’ Percy prompted. ‘You’ve got a brilliant plan, haven’t you?’
    ‘It’s a plan,’ Annabeth murmured. ‘I don’t know about brilliant. We need to find the River of Fire.’

VII
     

ANNABETH
     
    W HEN THEY REACHED THE LEDGE, Annabeth was sure she’d signed their death warrants.
    The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian crevasse, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces.
    Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn’t left Annabeth’s bones, but now her face felt raw and sunburnt. Every breath took more effort, as if her chest were filled with styrofoam peanuts. The cuts on her hands bled more rather than less. Annabeth’s ankle, which had almost healed, now seemed to be broken again. She’d taken off her makeshift cast, but now she regretted it. Each step made her wince.
    Assuming they could make it down to the fiery river, which she doubted, her plan seemed certifiably insane.
    ‘Uh …’ Percy examined the cliff. He pointed to a tiny fissure running diagonally from the edge to the bottom. ‘We can try that ledge there. Might be able to climb down.’
    He didn’t say they’d be crazy to try. He managed to sound hopeful. Annabeth was grateful for that, but she also worried that she was leading him to his doom.
    Of course if they stayed here they would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on their arms from exposure to the Tartarus air. The whole environment was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone.
    Percy went first. The ledge was barely wide enough to allow a toehold. Their hands clawed for any crack in the glassy rock. Every time Annabeth put pressure on her bad foot, she wanted to yelp. She’d ripped off the sleeves of her T-shirt and used the cloth to wrap her bloody palms, but her fingers were still slippery and weak.
    A few steps below her, Percy grunted as he reached for another handhold. ‘So … what is this fire river called?’
    ‘The Phlegethon ,’ she said. ‘You should concentrate on going down.’
    ‘The
Phlegethon
?’ He shinned along the ledge. They’d made it roughly a third of the way down the cliff – still high enough up to die if they fell. ‘Sounds like a marathon for hawking spitballs.’
    ‘Please don’t make me laugh,’ she said.
    ‘Just trying to keep things light.’
    ‘Thanks,’ she grunted, nearly missing