The Shadow Thieves

  “I have to go out there, don’t I? I have to find him. By myself.”

  Mew cocked her head.

  “Not by myself?”

  “Yowl,” said the cat.

  Charlotte felt tears in her eyes. She inhaled deeply. “Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Her cousin was in trouble and she was going to save him. She could do this. She could be brave. She could be the heroine. She could also be kidnapped by shadow-stealing goons and forced into the Underworld, but that’s okay. Charlotte slipped on her sneakers, then opened the front door and, heart in her throat, gazed out into the cold, black night. There was nothing to see—just sleeping houses and dim streetlamps and empty streets. And darkness. And whatever lurked behind the darkness. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the night.

  The wind blew past her, and her pink flannel pajamas seemed to quaver in its mighty presence. Charlotte hugged herself. She looked back toward the front door, behind which was her very thick, warm, cozy winter coat, and sighed. There was no time. She had to get to Zee before…

  “Where to?” she asked Mew.

  Mew stood on the front step, nose sniffing, ears rotating like satellite dishes. Charlotte did not let herself wonder where Zee had gone or whom/what he had found, because then she would not be able to leave that spot. Courage, she decided, depended quite a bit on a failure of imagination.

  And then, suddenly, Mew sprang into the night. Charlotte took off after her. Across the street the cat ran, into the neighbors’ yard, through the fence, behind the garage, out into the alley, and then through another yard, and Charlotte followed, the whole way, ripping her pajamas on a bush. They emerged at the other side of the block, then went rushing down the street. The wind seemed to freeze Charlotte’s cheeks, her breath chilled against her mouth, but all she concentrated on was the gray and white kitten who charged on ahead of her and who, occasionally, would stop and wait until Charlotte was in sight, before tearing off again.

  And then, four blocks from her house, she saw her cousin. He was a block ahead of them, dressed only in his pajamas, barefoot, and walking as if he were taking a nice evening stroll. Relief sprang up in Charlotte, along with a sudden urge to throttle him. But there was no time; the Footmen could come any minute, and she did not think Mr. Metos could save them now.

  “Zee!” Charlotte called. “Zee, wait up!”

  Zee didn’t even look behind him. He just kept going, as if he didn’t hear her—or at least wanted it to seem that way.

  But he didn’t alter his pace, either, and Charlotte ran until she caught up to him. “Zee!” she said. “What are you doing?”

  And still he kept walking. Mew was running in circles around his legs.

  “Zee! What are you doing? Zee, you said we were going to wait! You promised!” She grabbed on to his shoulder, and only then did he stop.

  “What?” he said. He shook his head. He blinked. “Charlotte?”

  “Zee?”

  Zee looked at Charlotte, then at himself, then at the world. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

  Charlotte gaped. “What are you doing ?”

  He looked around helplessly. “I have no idea….”

  CHAPTER 16

  Life Lessons From Charon

  IF YOU ASKED CHARON—NOT THAT ANYONE EVER does— he’d tell you he gets a bad rap. The Ferryman for the Dead is widely considered, in both legend and life, to be rather, well, greedy. But really, if you look at all the facts, you can’t blame him. He has a family to feed.

  Everyone knows he has the worst job in the Underworld. He spends his days rowing back and forth along the Styx, listening to the Dead freak out because they’re Dead and they had so much to live for, blah, blah, blah, and where in the heck are the Pearly Gates, anyway?

  Actually, he kind of likes that last part.

  But regardless, Charon has had his job since the beginning, the Very Beginning; when there first was an Underworld, there was Charon on the river Styx in his ferryboat. He doesn’t remember anything before that.

  In the Beginning it was a nice life. A few Dead here and there, and most of them knew enough to bring a little tip for the Ferryman. That’s what civilized people do, you know. They tip. There’s no such thing as a free ride.

  But that is beside the point.

  Which is:

  That was the good old days, when it was just he, Thanatos, Hypnos, Hades, and the Erinyes. They’d pal around and drink wine and play cards, and Hades would tell lewd jokes. He knew so many! No one’s ever known as many dirty jokes as Hades! Like, did you hear the one about Perseus and the Gorgon’s head?

  No?

  Oh, anyway. Everything changed when Hades brought Persephone to the Underworld. He got all funny, the way men do. Started spending all his time in the Palace. Never hung out with the guys (or the winged she-demons) anymore. Stopped caring about the Kingdom. He gave Hypnos and Thanatos their fancy-dan titles, and suddenly ol’ Charon was just a grunt, just a laborer, just the Ferryman.

  Oh, and then the Dead kept coming. More and more. Charon barely got any time off. He had to get a bigger boat, which he paid for with his own hard-earned money, mind you. Did he mention he had a family to feed?

  Oh, and then the Underworld just kept getting bigger and bigger, and Hades tried to lure more Staff so he could sit on his bony butt and pitch woo to the Ice Queen. And Hades promised prospective employees all these lovely perks but didn’t bother to tend to those who’d been there since the Beginning. You know how it goes. In with the new, forget the old. At least the Erinyes got to torture people.

  He used to be fun, Hades did. A riot! Did you hear the one about Jason and the Golden Fleece?

  No?

  The point is, Charon had a family to feed. And he didn’t have any of those bonuses or benefits or personal holidays or vacation time or paternity leave or anything else that everyone and their Aunt Fanny seemed to have. He depended on fares. Not that they were enough. With the family to feed.

  So Charon developed a little side business. A trade of his own. Hades liked entrepreneurs, so Charon became one. He traded in the most valuable commodity there was:

  Information.

  Information! Ah, how he loves having it! How everyone else wants it! You want to know what your implets do after school? You want to know what your minions say when you’re out of earshot? You want to know who is building a shadow army to take over the Underworld?

  Really, he’s providing a service. And if he happens to make a profit, to feed his family, well…can you blame him? Can you?

  Actually, he doesn’t have a family. He’s more the solitary type. Brooding. A loner. Plus, a wife and kids are expensive.

  But he digresses.

  So, say you’re one of those Promethian descendants and you wander on down to the Underworld. (Because let’s face it: Everyone knows how to get in and out. Hades thought his precious Decree would stop people, but really, he doesn’t know a thing that happens outside his Palace walls. All he does is sit on his scrawny bottom and make goo-goo eyes at the Ice Queen.)

  Say you’re one of those descendants of Prometheus. And you’re sworn to protect humans against the whims of the uncaring gods, blah, blah, blah. And you get wind of some nefarious Underworld scheme. And you want more information so you can save your precious humans. Whatever do you do?

  Well, you go down and see Charon.

  But bring cash.

  Charon knows. He knows everything. And for the right price he’ll tell you.

  Okay, now. Say you are Charon. Say you give this guy all the information he wants. Say, in the process, because you are oh so subtle and clever, you get a little information from him. What do you do then?

  Well, just follow these simple instructions:

  Put a sign on your boat. BE BACK IN 15 MINUTES. It doesn’t actually have to be fifteen minutes. The Dead have no sense of time. Let them wander around on the shores for a while. Builds character.

  Find your subject. Approac
h him casually. You’re buddies, right? Act like one.

  Like this:

  CHARON: Hey, how’s it going?

  SUBJECT: Good, good.

  Excellent. Now tell a joke. Loosen him up.

  CHARON: Hey, did you hear the one about Heracles and the Cerynitian hind?

  Like that. Now start asking questions. Be casual.

  CHARON: How’s that shadow army?

  As if you really want to know, because you care. About him. Everyone likes to be listened to. People want to talk about their evil schemes. Just give them the chance.

  SUBJECT: Just about done.

  CHARON: Wow! That’s amazing.

  Flattery will get you everywhere.

  SUBJECT: It truly is. The army, you should see them. They’re so beautiful. I almost hate to send them out….

  CHARON: When are you going to?

  SUBJECT: I just need to get my Zero down here to utter the final words of the spell.

  CHARON: Oh.

  Pause. Think for a moment. Ask innocently:

  CHARON: And how are you going to do that?

  SUBJECT: I’ve been sending him dreams. Vivid ones.

  CHARON: [Innocent. Wide eyed. Appreciative!] Wow! I thought only Hypnos could do that.

  SUBJECT: I’ve learned a few skills here in Exile. The boy will be down here soon. He may be asleep, but he’ll be here.

  See? They brag! It’s the most wonderful thing!

  So you nod. You smile. You praise him some more. You sidle up close to him. Your smile grows. You whisper tantalizingly:

  CHARON: I know something you don’t know.

  SUBJECT: You do?

  CHARON: Yup.

  Pause.

  SUBJECT: What is it?

  CHARON: It’s gonna cost you.

  Really, that’s the best part. It’s gonna cost you! It’s gonna cost you! And he, your subject, is waiting, hungering, practically drooling for your information! And he inevitably says:

  SUBJECT: How much?

  CHARON: This is pretty great information.

  Shake your head. Like you can’t believe how great it is. Like it’s so great it’s going to cost him a lot.

  Your subject will sigh, reluctantly, and offer you a price. Double it. Triple it if he’s a raging egomaniac with a freaky evil plan for taking over the Underworld. He’ll refuse. Shake your head, sigh, nod like you understand, and walk away slowly. He will inevitably say:

  SUBJECT: Wait!

  Turn gently, slowly, casually.

  CHARON: Yes?

  SUBJECT: All right, I’ll pay.

  Ah, now you have him. Lean close and whisper in his ear.

  CHARON: Have you ever heard of the descendants of Prometheus?

  Tell your story. Watch his eyes bug out. It is, after all, very good information. When you are done, collect your sizable fee and head back to your boat. Later you will go to the Palace and visit the scrawny, bony, woo-pitching, goo-goo-eyed Hades and tell him you know something he does not.

  CHAPTER 17

  Waiting for Mr. Metos

  ZEE’S DESIRE TO GO OUT AND CONFRONT THE Footmen lessened significantly after his sleepwalking adventure, or so he told Charlotte as they huddled up in his room afterward. Charlotte thought that sounded pretty sensible.

  “Do you remember anything?” Charlotte asked.

  “No,” Zee said. “I was dreaming. I had to go somewhere…I had to open a door to get there, and I was heading to that door. That’s all I know.”

  “Do you know where the door was? Or what it led to?”

  Zee shook his head helplessly. Sighing heavily, he leaned back against the wall, then thumped his head against it for good measure. Charlotte raised her hand to the back of her head sympathetically.

  After a minute or so Zee asked, “How did you find me?”

  “Bartholomew!” Charlotte said. She told Zee the whole story, from waking up to find Mew on her face, to the cat’s leading her right to Zee. Zee’s face grew more and more incredulous, while Charlotte happily stroked the kitten, who was sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

  When Charlotte had finished, Zee said quietly, “Doesn’t that seem a little…weird?”

  “Weird?” Charlotte said blankly.

  “Amazing, even?” Zee studied her carefully. “Doesn’t that seem like really amazing behavior for a cat?”

  “Well, she’s a great cat,” Charlotte protested. Zee gave her a look, and she sighed. “Okay, yes. It is amazing behavior for a cat.”

  With that, Charlotte leaned against the wall. She and Zee alternated between casting sidelong looks at each other and staring off into space. She was always imagining people and things as supernatural somehow, but she was never really serious.

  Finally Zee exhaled and asked, “So, are there any cats in Greek myths?”

  “Not that I know of,” Charlotte said. “There’s an Egyptian cat. Bastet. I don’t know anything about that, though.” Elizabeth had a cat named Bastet, and Elizabeth said she was named after the Egyptian cat goddess, and that formed the beginning and the end of Charlotte’s knowledge.

  “Egyptian,” Zee said dismissively.

  “Yeah. No Greek. Maybe when Mr. Metos comes back, we can ask him?” She sneaked a look at Zee, who sneaked a look back at her. Both of them were thinking the same thing: When Mr. Metos comes back, or if he comes back? If those creeps could make a boy walk half a mile without even waking up, were they really going to be afraid of an English teacher? “Anyway, back to Mew.”

  “She—” Zee began, then stopped himself, blushing. “Well, Bartholomew,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I don’t know how to say this, but…”

  “What?”

  He eyed the sleeping cat. “She’s never, you know, said anything, has she?”

  Charlotte’s eyes popped out. Zee blushed again.

  “Well,” he protested, “weirder things have happened today.” Charlotte could not argue with that. “Anyway. She doesn’t talk…and she doesn’t, you know, understand us?”

  Charlotte considered. “I don’t think so.” She leaned down and whispered in the kitten’s ear, “Do you understand us, baby?”

  Mew was mum. Charlotte stroked her for a while, then looked at Zee and shrugged. “One thing we know, though….”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Charlotte tilted her head. “Whoever she is, she’s on our side.”

  Zee considered, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.” He smiled a little, and Charlotte could not help but smile too. Zee put his hand on the kitten and started stroking her neck; she stretched and yawned and turned over for a belly rub. Charlotte yawned too. Perhaps she could sleep a little tonight—it was only 4 A.M., no school tomorrow, she could get lots of sleep still. And there were certainly no more adventures scheduled for the night. If any Charlotte/shadow-stealing freak wanted to break into her house, surely it would have happened by now. She stretched and was about to tell Zee when he suddenly muttered, “Hey, what’s this?”

  “What?”

  Zee had been running his cupped hands along Mew’s front legs (something that she quite liked), but he’d stopped and was holding her right leg in his hand. Mew was gazing at him with a distinctly perplexed look. “Here. On her paw.”

  Charlotte looked. The bottom of Mew’s paw was covered in a chalky substance. Charlotte pressed on the paw to extend the claws, and they, too, were covered in what looked like dried white mud.

  “From being outside?” Charlotte asked.

  Zee wet his finger and rubbed the paw. He smelled his finger.

  “I think it’s…clay,” he whispered. “And here, look!”

  Trapped on her claws were a few black silk threads. Charlotte and Zee gazed at each other.

  Charlotte gulped. “There was a crash earlier, and she was yowling….” She sat up suddenly and grabbed Zee’s hand. “Zee,” she whispered urgently, “they were trying to get in the house!”

  If, the next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Mielsw
etzski were surprised to find Zee sleeping on the floor of his room with pink bedding from Charlotte’s bed, while Charlotte slept in Zee’s bed, they did not say anything. (Charlotte had been perfectly happy to sleep on the floor, but Zee would have none of it. He went into Charlotte’s room, got the comforter and the pillow, and made himself a nest on the floor. He would brook no argument; Zee was nothing but polite until you tried to infringe on his gentlemanliness.) If they were surprised that both of the children slept until eleven o’clock, they didn’t mention it, either. Much to Zee and Charlotte’s relief.

  When the two both stumbled downstairs at about eleven fifteen, they found Mr. Mielswetzski at the kitchen table reading the paper.

  “I drove to work this morning to find they’d cancelled school,” Mr. Mielswetzski explained. He motioned to the paper—the headline read, MYSTERIOUS FLU STRIKES AREA YOUTH, CLOSES SCHOOLS. Charlotte gulped. “Some kids there are sick too,” he added. “Of course, nobody bothered to call the teachers.” He stood up and smiled. “So, sleepyheads. Nice to be off for a day, huh? Do you want pancakes?”

  Charlotte’s stomach turned, and she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry, Dad.”

  “No pancakes? Suit yourself. Zachary?…No? Okay! So, did you kids sleep well?”

  Charlotte and Zee exchanged a look. “Not really,” Charlotte said. “I had a really bad dream. I went downstairs for some water, and Zee was up too.”

  “I was!” Zee agreed.

  “Yeah, and he let me sleep in his room.” Her eyes grew wide. “It was a really, really bad dream.”

  “My poor girl,” Mr. Mielswetzski clucked. “Sounds like everyone had trouble sleeping. I think Mew knocked something over, too, did you hear the crash? It scared the dickens out of me, I thought we were being robbed! Still can’t figure out what she knocked over…”

  “Uh-huh,” Charlotte whimpered, pouring herself some orange juice.