“That is not your concern,” he said sternly. “Ms. Mielswetzski, your concern is staying safe and keeping Zachary safe. I am counting on you.”
Charlotte nodded. On any normal occasion she would have resented being condescended to—she was perfectly capable of doing things on her own—but in the case of going into the Underworld and taking on some evil Greek god named Phil, she’d let the adults take care of that one.
Mr. Metos drove them home, and they rode in the car in utter silence. Zee was off in his own Zee world again, and Charlotte was lost in images of the Underworld, drawn in gray and shadow.
When they arrived in front of the Mielswetzskis’, Charlotte asked quietly, “How…how do we know when it’s safe?”
“I’ll come by,” Mr. Metos said. “It won’t be long. A day or two. I will be back.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment and an image of the Footmen appeared in her mind—they were there, behind her, reaching for her, ready to suck her into Death.
Her eyes popped open. “And…”—she didn’t know she was going to say the words until they were out of her mouth—“will you be okay?”
Mr. Metos almost smiled. But not quite. “I will,” he said firmly. “I will.”
As they hurried up the path to her house, Mr. Metos watching carefully from the street, Charlotte found herself unconsciously wanting to take Zee’s hand, but she didn’t. Instead she clutched her arms around her chest and made her way quickly to the door.
CHAPTER 15
Good Kitty
BARTHOLOMEW, FOR ONE, WAS GLAD TO SEE THEM home. When Charlotte opened the door, the kitten came bounding down the stairs and leaped toward Charlotte and Zee, landing just at their feet. She proceeded to rub herself against their legs, purring madly.
“She, for one, is glad to see us,” Charlotte remarked under her breath, reaching down to pet her kitten.
Her mother, on the other hand, was not as glad. Or rather, she was delighted to see them safe and sound, but she had been worried because they were late and Charlotte had sounded so strange on the phone, and who was this Mr. Metos anyway, and what did Charlotte think keeping her cousin out with his massive head injury, and did anyone think of the turkey burgers ?
Lecture received and apologies given, Charlotte led Zee into the kitchen, where Mr. Mielswetzski was cleaning up from dinner. He was not delighted, per se, to see them, but he was much less emphatic, and that was all right with Charlotte.
“What’s with Mom?” she whispered. Zee hung back, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, Char, she’s worried,” Mr. Mielswetzski said. “This flu thing has got her shaken, and she wants to keep an eye on you. She can’t help it. We can’t help it. You’ll understand when you have kids.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows.
“Be patient with your old parents, my girl. We worry about you. That’s all. If we act a little hysterical at times, it’s just because we love you so much.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows sank. She looked at the ground. “Okay, Dad,” she said quietly. Once upon a time there was a girl named Charlotte who suddenly felt a great attachment to her home.
“Now, can I get you anything?”
She and Zee exchanged a look. They had so much to discuss, but it suddenly occurred to Charlotte that there was a great beast gnawing its way through her stomach, and it would eat her and then Zee and then the whole house if she didn’t get it some other sustenance quickly. From the way Zee looked at her—a sort of pleading wooziness—she guessed he felt the same way and simply didn’t have it in him to say so.
“How about some of those great turkey burgers, Dad?” Charlotte asked.
“Coming right up,” he said, flipping his spatula.
They ate quickly and quietly, the only sound the flatulent squeaking of the ketchup bottle. Charlotte tried to keep her mind off everything that had happened that day, otherwise she might vomit up the very delicious burger, and then she would be scared and hungry and vomity. Better just to try to focus on the dinner at hand.
But the quiet ended when the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Mielswetzski came through. She took one look at Charlotte and Zee and their ketchup-dripping turkey burgers. “What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “I thought your English teacher made you dinner? For”—and here she began to articulate very carefully—“extra credit?”
Charlotte’s eyes popped. “He did!” she said quickly. “But…we’re still hungry. There wasn’t a lot of food. He’s a vegan.”
“Oh, is he, now?” Mrs. Mielswetzski squinted at Charlotte. Was she finally, after all these years, beginning to catch on?
It was time to change the subject. Charlotte put down her burger and gazed at both of her parents earnestly. “Listen, Mom? Dad? I’m really sorry for worrying you. And I know things are scary right now. And Zee and I have talked about it”—she glanced at her cousin, who was staring at her with apprehension—“and we’ve decided we’ll stay close to home the next few days. Until they figure out this flu. Okay?”
The faces of both senior Mielswetzskis softened at Charlotte’s words, enough so she felt a little guilty for not being entirely truthful. But what was she supposed to say to them? There’s a guy named Phil, and he wants Zee to enchant a shadow army to overthrow Hades, who really is King of the Dead, it’s not just made up, and he’s got some evil Footmen who are going to steal my shadow or kidnap me to get Zee down there, or something, we’re not quite sure, but we know it’s bad, so we’re just going to stick around the house, okay? Home is, after all, where the heart is. And it’s where the scary men aren’t.
Meanwhile, Zee had that look on his face, the one that read, I really want to protest but I can’t because I’m British, but she would have expected that. Zee wasn’t a stay-put kind of guy. He was a talk softly (or not at all), run-out-and-solve-everything-himself-because-it-was-all-his-fault kind of guy. Well, not anymore, if Charlotte had anything to say about it. It was her job to watch him; Mr. Metos had said so. There was trouble, serious, apocalyptic trouble, and she was going to stay as far away as possible. Once upon a time there was a girl named Charlotte and she couldn’t do anything right and she was a coward, and she was perfectly fine with that, frankly, because sometimes things are bigger than you. Going to France and living on her own and taking photography classes was one thing; going to the Underworld was something entirely different.
After dinner Charlotte and Zee sneaked upstairs, with Bartholomew sneaking right behind them. Charlotte led Zee (and the kitten) into her room and shut the door behind them—this was one conversation she did not want overheard; she couldn’t very well look after her cousin if she was in a loony bin, could she?
Before sitting down, Charlotte turned on all the lights in her room, including the lamps, then she perched on her bed, picking up a bright pink, furry pillow and wrapping her arms around it. Zee sat on the foot of the bed, and Charlotte tossed him a pillow too, just in case. Bartholomew hopped up between them. The cat sat up, looking attentively at Charlotte.
The room felt so heavy, and Charlotte’s lungs did not seem quite up to the task of taking in the air. Zee looked to be having trouble too; he kept inhaling loudly and forcefully, almost as if to demonstrate that he still could. They sat for a time, trying to relearn the art of breathing.
After a while Zee picked up the purple pillow and began to play with the fur. He sighed heavily. “All I do is hide in the house,” he said quietly.
Charlotte looked up. “Well…it’s important!”
Zee shook his head. “There are men attacking my friends, and I hide in the house.” He hit his hand against the pillow. Bartholomew started and turned her blue eyes on him watchfully.
“Well, look!” Charlotte exclaimed. “By hiding, you actually helped everyone. The Footmen left London because you weren’t going anywhere, you weren’t leading them to anyone.”
Zee shrugged. “And they came right over here and began to attack everyone.” Charlotte looked at the bed. “It’s ironi
c, isn’t it? They found me because Gran died. And she’s the only one who’d know what to do.”
“She knew about Greek stuff?”
“No, no…she just…I don’t know. She knew things. She’d know what to do.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, as if she understood, which she didn’t. She casually reached over and began to scratch Bartholomew on the head. “So…what was that about your grandmother and Mr. Metos?”
“What? Oh!” Zee shook his head and looked away. “Nothing. It wasn’t anything…just a guess….”
Charlotte eyed him. He started twisting the strands on the pillow. He really didn’t seem to Charlotte to be the type to have a lot of hunches, but she didn’t think she could get anything else out of him now. “Anyway,” she said brightly, “we have someone who knows what to do. We have Mr. Metos. He knows all about this. He’s going to take care of it. There’s nothing for us to do.”
Zee raised his eyebrows. “How do we know?”
“Huh?”
“How do we know he’s going to take care of it? How do we know we can trust Mr. Metos? How do we know what he says is true?”
Charlotte blinked rapidly. That hadn’t occurred to her and never would have occurred to her. Of course Mr. Metos was telling the truth. Who on Earth would make that up? She realized, too, that it had never occurred to her before that a teacher might lie, and then she felt a bit like a dork. “Why wouldn’t we think so?” she asked. “Everything he said made perfect sense. He knew about the shadows, he knew about the men….”
“Yes, but”—Zee leaned in and whispered—“doesn’t it seem awfully convenient that he was right there? I mean, he saved us just in time. How is that possible?”
“Well…” Charlotte paused. “I think he was following us. Watching us. Protecting us.”
“Do we know that? How do we know if he’s supposed to protect us or hurt us? Gran didn’t…” He stopped and shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Charlotte squinted. “So…you want to just go out there? And do…what?”
“I don’t know,” Zee said. “But even if Mr. Metos is right, how do we know we’re safe inside? I mean, why couldn’t they just come in here and…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“And, you know, take you. Or your shadow. Or whatever.”
Charlotte bit her lip. She hugged her pillow a little tighter. “I just think we should listen to Mr. Metos….” She could hear how she sounded. All her life she’d been casting herself as some kind of heroine who would comport herself well in a story, if only there were one to be had—but now that there was danger and excitement and adventure, she was staying home.
“They took my blood, Charlotte!” Zee thumped his fist again. “They nicked my blood while I was sleeping, and they’re using it to enchant an army made of the stolen shadows of people that I led them to…my friends …making them all incredibly sick. I have to do something!” He shook his head and quieted a bit. “Can’t you see that?” he added, staring at her imploringly.
Charlotte’s mouth hung open. It was the first time she had ever seen Zee talk like that. She didn’t even know he had it in him. Any other time she’d compliment him or make fun of him or something, but on this particular occasion all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed with Bartholomew and cry. She swallowed. The air seemed only to be getting heavier. She didn’t have a thing to say to Zee, nothing he would listen to, anyway, and she supposed, if she really thought about it, she could, yes, she could see what he was saying. And if she were in his position, she might feel the same way. Except she wouldn’t be brave enough to say it.
“So…what are you going to do?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Zee said. “I don’t know.”
“Look. Let’s just wait a couple days for Mr. Metos, okay? Just for a couple of days. We’ll stay inside, and then they can’t take any more shadows. So no one else can get hurt. And you can, you know…make sure they don’t come for me.”
That would have been a low blow if Charlotte hadn’t actually meant it. As much as she wanted to keep her word to Mr. Metos, and thus save the world, she also didn’t like the idea of having those men come for her in the middle of the night, taking her shadow or her blood, or quite possibly her entire self. She could close her eyes and feel the ground opening beneath her, feel herself being grabbed and dragged down….
“All right,” Zee said. “Two days. But then I’m going to go out and…I don’t know. Follow the Footmen. I can’t sit here and do nothing, Charlotte. I can’t.”
She nodded softly. “I know.”
Charlotte had a hard time sleeping that night. Visions of nightmares danced behind her eyes, except the nightmares were real. Hideous man-like creatures made of clay clutched at her with their bird-claw hands, and she could not run, she could not move, she could not yell. Were they nightmares or visions? She had no idea—she would just find herself shuddering awake and looking at the clock and seeing only fifteen minutes had passed since the last time she had awoken.
So it was a refreshing change for Charlotte to wake up to the sound of a soft knock on her door. She opened her eyes, and her mother’s head popped in the doorway.
“Charlotte?” she whispered. “Are you still awake? I saw the lights….”
“Oh…I must have fallen asleep with the lights on.” This was technically true—she did, in fact, fall asleep with the lights on; no need to mention that it was on purpose.
Her mother smiled. “Let me turn them off.”
“No…no…I’m not sleeping well. I might read for a while.” The words just popped out of her mouth, but really it sounded like an excellent plan. No nightmares when you are reading! There are many wonderful things about reading, but surely that is one of the most wonderful of all.
“It’s pretty late, sweetie,” Mrs. Mielswetzski said kindly. “Just a little, then try to get some sleep. Good night, my dear.” And she disappeared.
“Mom?” Charlotte called quickly after her. “Will you tuck me in?”
Her mother reappeared in the doorway and smiled a motherly smile. “Of course, dear.” Mrs. Mielswetzski sat on the edge of the bed and put her head on Charlotte’s forehead. “I’m having trouble sleeping too. I just went down to drink some warm milk. It’s strange tonight.” She paused. “You know,” she said, beginning to stroke Charlotte’s hair, “you used to fall asleep with the lights on all the time when you were younger. You’d read into the night and just fall asleep. Your father and I would come in and find you clutching your book, and we’d tuck you in and turn out the lights. You never woke up, you were such a good sleeper.”
Charlotte relaxed a little, letting her mother run her hands through her hair. Her eyes closed, her shoulders fell into her body, her bones sank into the bed. She exhaled.
“That’s my girl.”
“Do you know where Mew is?” Charlotte asked sleepily.
“She’s prowling around downstairs.” Mrs. Mielswetzski laughed a little. “She’s strange tonight too! I don’t know what it is. She keeps watching out the windows and growling.”
Charlotte’s eyes flew open. “Oh!” With a flash she remembered Mew’s behavior earlier in the night, when they were leaving. She had not wanted them to leave. Almost as if she knew…
“Must be another cat out there or something,” her mother said.
“Must be,” Charlotte said weakly.
“Okay, honey, I’m going to try to sleep. You do the same, okay?” Mrs. Mielswetzski kissed her daughter on the forehead, tucked the blankets up, and headed to the hallway—leaving the lights on, which suited Charlotte just fine.
Charlotte had insisted on leaving her bedroom door ajar ever since she found Mew; it had been quite a change for her, as she had strictly been a sleep-with-the-door-closed kind of girl. But it was an adjustment she was happy to make, and it didn’t take too much time to train her parents—who were also suddenly sleeping with their door ajar. And as she left, Mrs. Mielswetzski obedient
ly left the door open a crack, and Charlotte was glad because if someone was coming to take her, she would at least hear them coming….
Suddenly there was a loud crash downstairs. Charlotte jumped. Then she heard Mew let out a Mew yowl. Okay, she told herself. Just the cat. Must have knocked something over. A vase. Or something. Nothing to be afraid of.
Charlotte shivered in her bed. No, no, she could not read after all—all she could do was lie there thinking about all the things that might be coming and what they might sound like, and unfortunately, after an hour or so of this she did accidentally fall asleep. She fell asleep soundly this time, so soundly that when the footsteps came, she did not hear them. But anyway, the footsteps were not coming toward her, but rather heading through the hallway, down the stairs, through the front hall, and outside the door.
When she woke up, it was 2 A.M. and there was a cat standing on her face. The cat was looking in her eyes and yowling.
“Cat!” Charlotte said dumbly.
“Yowl,” said the cat.
She willed herself to wake up. “What is it?”
“Yowl,” said the cat.
Bartholomew started running to Charlotte’s door and back to Charlotte. Charlotte got the point pretty quickly. She got up sleepily and followed Mew into the hallway.
Mew ran up to Zee’s room. Charlotte followed. The door was wide open and the bed was empty. Charlotte gasped. Mew began to run back and forth up and down the stairs, then to the front door.
Charlotte looked at the cat, then at the door. She felt a lump in her throat. “We made a deal,” she protested. “He wasn’t going to go out. He was going to wait for two days. For Mr. Metos.”
“Yowl,” said the cat.
“Why did he go out? Did he go to find the Footmen? They’ll take him! Why did he go out?”
“Yowl,” said the cat.
“What should I do? Should I wake Mom and Dad? What should I do?”
“Yowl,” said the cat.
“They won’t believe me. And even if they did…” Charlotte shuddered. The Footmen took children’s shadows. No one had mentioned what they would do to adults. She looked at Mew and gulped.