The Shadow Thieves

  “But then I went out like a light. I don’t know what it was. Couldn’t sleep, and then about one o’clock I was out like a baby! Your mother, too!”

  “Uh-huh,” Charlotte whimpered, pouring herself some cereal. She poured a bowl for Zee, too, who didn’t seem very capable of doing much by himself that morning. He had slumped in a chair, and he looked as though some of his bones were on the verge of snapping in two. Charlotte poured him a nice big glass of juice, too.

  She wasn’t the only one to notice. “Are you all right, Zach?” her father asked. “You look a little frazzled this morning.”

  Zee paled—which was fairly impressive, as he had been pretty pale this morning to begin with. He looked at Charlotte helplessly.

  “Probably from sleeping on the floor!” she said quickly. “Poor Zee, on the floor all night!…So, is Mom in her office?”

  This Charlotte could do. She could come up with a convincing story in no time flat—yes, that Mr. Metos dinner had strained her powers a little bit, but she was under duress, okay? She could pour two bowls of cereal and a nice tall glass of orange juice for her freaked-out cousin and weave stories with a golden tongue. It was a small gift, a small space in the world that she could manage and call her own. It had nothing to do with staring down clay-made monsters or freaky, mind-controlling, power-hungry Underworld guys, but it was something, and in that moment she was safe.

  “Well,” Mr. Mielswetzski said, clapping his hands together. “We all have a day off! What shall we do?”

  Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to read.”

  “Zachary?”

  “Um, thank you, Uncle Mike,” he said quietly. “I’m knack—beat, myself. I’ve got a pile of homework to do too.”

  “You kids are boring today!” Mr. Mielswetzski exclaimed. “Well…I’ll go bother your mother.”

  And that he did.

  For the rest of the day Charlotte and Zee sat in Zee’s room, pretending to read/do homework, and waited for some sign of Mr. Metos. Charlotte occasionally checked her shadow to make sure it was still there. Bartholomew stayed with them, sometimes sleeping, sometimes running in circles around the room or batting around the plastic cap from Charlotte’s soda.

  “Good footwork,” Zee muttered, watching Mew.

  They could not deny that she seemed genuinely to be a cat. As opposed to something else—a demon or a god or a descendant of somebody or something. She was just a cat. An amazing (and incredibly cute) cat. Charlotte had heard that cats were able to sense ghosts; maybe her behavior was perfectly cat-like. She would have to ask Mr. Metos when…

  “When do you think he’ll come?”

  “I don’t know,” Zee said, shaking his head. There was no need for him to ask whom she was referring to.

  Charlotte looked back down at her book and stared at the words for a moment, then looked up. “He’s going to come soon, right? Today or tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” Zee said.

  “I wonder how he’s getting down there. And how he’ll get back.”

  “I don’t know,” Zee said.

  “I wonder what he’s going to do.”

  “I don’t know,” Zee said.

  “What if he doesn’t come?”

  “I don’t know,” Zee said quietly. “I don’t know.”

  They sat through the afternoon, into the early evening. Charlotte kept wanting to ask questions, and Zee kept wanting to sit quietly and think in his Zee way, so they compromised; Charlotte asked questions, and Zee stopped even trying to answer. Mrs. Mielswetzski popped in to say hello at one point. A few moments later Charlotte heard her say to Mr. Mielswetzski, “Those two are getting along so well! I was worried there for a while, but…”

  They were called to dinner at six—turkey loaf with spinach and bread from the bread maker—and they ate quietly. Charlotte was conscious of her parents’ eyes on the both of them. They were asking too-casual questions, and Charlotte parried the best she could. We’re just tired. We didn’t sleep well. No, no, we’re not sick. But it’s hard, all of my friends. You know, we’re worried. Maybe that’s why we’re not sleeping well. They didn’t even try with Zee.

  After dinner was done and the plates were cleared, Charlotte and Zee went back upstairs. They sat for a while, watching dusk turn to night, and wondering what that night might bring.

  “Mom and Dad are catching on,” Charlotte muttered to Zee after a time. “They know something’s up.”

  “You handled it well,” Zee said. “You’re good at that, you know?”

  “Lying?” Charlotte said.

  “No…no…just always knowing the right thing to say. I never do.”

  “Are you kidding?” Charlotte exclaimed. “You’re, like, Mr. Perfect. You’re so polite and charming, and everyone loves you.”

  Zee raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s true. You’re, like, the coolest guy in school. Ever since you got there, everyone’s been following you around.”

  “Look, they like me because I’m the new guy. And I have a funny accent. It’d be the same if you came to my school. Of course…there are no girls in my school. But anyway, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t have anything to say to them. And I can never talk my way through something. Not like you.”

  “You don’t need to,” Charlotte muttered. “Everyone just likes you.”

  “Well, they’d…” Suddenly he stopped himself, rather suspiciously Charlotte thought.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “Charlotte…do you actually…you know…” He trailed off and looked away.

  “What?”

  He swallowed. “Do you want to, you know, have people like you?”

  Charlotte gaped. “What do you mean?”

  Zee started to rub his face, looking rather like he wanted to rub himself away. “It’s just…well…”

  “Zee!”

  “You don’t really seem like you, you know, are that interested in other people….” Zee squeezed his eyes shut.

  “What?!”

  “I mean, everyone would like you. But they don’t think you care one way or another…You can give off the impression of…oh…you know…”

  Charlotte could not believe what she was hearing. Kids had been talking to Zee about her? Who? They’d said she was cold? That she was—what was the word her mother had used?—prickly? Charlotte was prickly ? Charlotte wasn’t prickly; she was, you know, careful.

  “That’s not true. I’m not like that!” She shook her head. “They’re confusing me with Gretchen-the-goth-girl.”

  “Gretch?” said Zee. “Naw, man, she’s brilliant….” He caught himself and blushed furiously. “Charlotte, it’s just…look…” But then he suddenly stopped, straightened, and turned his head toward the window. “Did you hear something?”

  The expression on his face made Charlotte entirely forget their conversation. Anyway, she’d been down this road before. “What? Where?”

  “At the window.”

  Charlotte listened. There was a rustling, like a branch. Or, no, a tapping.

  “Something’s tapping on the window,” she whispered.

  Zee and Charlotte stared at each other. Charlotte bit her lip. Zee swallowed. “I better go see,” he said quietly.

  And so, with Charlotte holding her breath, Zee walked slowly up to the window. It could be a branch, Charlotte thought. A tapping branch. Or just the wind. Or something stuck against the window. It could be anything, really. Any other night if something were tapping against the window, it wouldn’t scare Charlotte at all—it would just be a normal, everyday thing. Still, Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed as Zee opened the blind. And then he made a strange noise, somewhere between a gasp and a gurgle.

  On the windowsill was a large black bird, staring right at them. Large, as in gigantic. Gigantic, as in enormous. Ginormous. Ginormous, as in a big black eagle-size bird with black, beady eyes.
Did I mention that the eyes were looking right at Charlotte? The bird flapped its wings and tapped against the window.

  “More smart animals,” Zee muttered.

  The bird flapped again, then raised its leg. Something white fluttered in the breeze—it was a piece of paper, attached to the bird’s leg.

  “It’s a note,” Charlotte said.

  Charlotte’s heart went into her stomach, and her stomach went into her feet. Zee’s mouth hung open uselessly. They looked back and forth at each other, then to the bird, which kept waving around the letter impatiently.

  “I guess we should see what it says,” Zee said, reaching over to open the window.

  CHAPTER 18

  Journey to the Underworld

  THE BLACK BIRD FLEW INTO THE ROOM WITH A whoosh. It perched on Zee’s dresser and let out an emphatic squawk.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem evil,” Charlotte said.

  “Kind of friendly,” Zee agreed.

  “Squawk,” said the bird. It raised its leg again, displaying the rolled-up note.

  “That’s a large bird,” Charlotte said.

  “Gigantic,” Zee agreed.

  “Squawk,” said the bird, waggling its leg pointedly.

  “I guess he wants us to take the note,” Charlotte said.

  “I guess so,” Zee agreed.

  “Squawk,” said the bird, glaring at them. Charlotte was glad the door was closed.

  Zee was closer, as Charlotte noted happily, so he approached the bird carefully and untied the note from his leg. The bird waited, holding his leg perfectly still. When Zee was done, the bird squawked again. He put his leg down and gazed at them from the dresser.

  “He’s waiting for something,” Zee said.

  “Maybe we’re supposed to tip him?” Charlotte said.

  “What do you tip a bird? Cheese?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said.

  The bird tucked his head into his shoulder and proceeded to groom himself.

  “Guess not,” said Zee. “Well…should we read the note?”

  “I guess so,” said Charlotte.

  Neither of them moved. If in every battle between evil, shadow-stealing geniuses, and good-hearted innocents there is a point of no return, this was that point, and they both knew it. Charlotte trembled a bit. The bird moved to his left shoulder and started to nibble.

  “All right,” Zee said heavily. And he unrolled the note. And he read. And he went green.

  “What?” Charlotte said. “What?”

  Zee shook his head wordlessly and passed her the note. Charlotte sucked in a breath and read:

  Charlotte and Zachary—

  I have been captured. It is up to you now. There is no other choice. Follow the bird; he will show you where to go.

  —Metos

  “Oh,” said Charlotte.

  “Yeah,” said Zee.

  Without Charlotte’s noticing it, someone had taken her bones and slow-cooked them, and suddenly, right at that moment, they became jelly. Bone jelly. Charlotte sank onto the bed.

  “Oh,” said Charlotte.

  “Yeah,” said Zee.

  The bird looked up, shook his head, and began to nibble at something on his neck.

  Zee, who apparently had also fallen victim to the evil bone-jelly plan, fell against the wall and sank to the ground.

  Time passed. The bird nibbled. Bones hardened again, took shape and purpose. The world sharpened before them. And Charlotte shook her head and said meekly:

  “It’s up to us now. We have to save everyone.”

  And Zee nodded slowly.

  Still they sat. The bird looked up, appraised the two of them for a moment, rolled his eyes, then starting working on his right wing, smacking a little as he did so.

  “I guess it means…we’re going down there,” she said.

  “I guess so,” Zee said.

  “Oh, goody,” she said, putting her head in her hands and breathing in heavily. Zee leaned back and thumped his head against the wall.

  “Okay, then,” she said.

  “All right, then,” he said.

  As one, they both sighed and stood up. The bird watched them carefully.

  “Do you think we need anything?” Charlotte asked.

  Zee shrugged. “Warm clothes?”

  “I’ll be right back.” Charlotte went into her room and grabbed the warmest sweater she could find. She reached into her bottom drawer and took out her allowance, which she tucked into the front pocket of her backpack. She emptied her school things out of the backpack, then she tiptoed down into the kitchen and grabbed four water bottles, a pack of cereal bars, and a box of Fruit Roll-Ups, which she stuffed into the backpack.

  She paused on the stairs. She could hear her parents in the living room, the welcoming sounds of nighttime—the news on the television, coffee cups clinking against dishes, bursts of whispered conversation, Mew doing laps around the room. For a moment she thought she would go in and tell them everything, she would fall into their laps and they would hold her and tell her they were going to make it all right, she didn’t have to worry about a thing. Charlotte closed her eyes and pictured doing that, tasted what it would be like, and then swallowed, and headed up to Zee and the black bird.

  “I have to leave them a note,” she whispered to Zee when she went into the room. “Mom and Dad. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. They’ll think…”

  Zee nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What do I say?”

  Zee shook his head, eyes wide.

  Charlotte bit her lip. “May as well tell them the truth.”

  She wrote:

  Dear Mom and Dad—

  We know what’s making everyone sick. We had to go save the world.

  We’ll be back as soon as we can. We love you.

  —Charlotte and Zee

  She pursed her lips, thought for a moment, then added:

  P.S. Don’t worry!!!!

  “That’s going to go over well,” she muttered. “Now what?”

  Zee looked at her, and they both looked at the bird, who raised his head imperiously.

  “We can’t go out the front door,” Charlotte whispered. “They’ll hear us.”

  The bird looked at the window, then looked back at them.

  “Out…there?” she said. For a second she thought the bird was going to take them flying. The bird was big, but not that big.

  Zee resolutely opened up the window, and the bird flew out and perched on the branch right outside. It squawked.

  Zee and Charlotte got the message. They put on their sweaters; Charlotte left the note on Zee’s bed, then slung her backpack on her shoulders and crawled out the window and onto the branch. Zee followed, closing the window behind him. They climbed down the tree and out into the street.

  The leaves twitched, the branches itched, hearts pounded, and breaths sounded, so neither Charlotte nor Zee noticed Bartholomew, who had just run up the stairs at full speed, standing on the windowsill howling with all her might.

  They crept silently through the street, the bird hovering just ahead of them. Charlotte could not help but note that they were going in the same direction that Zee had been heading the night before. Which, she supposed, made sense.

  The streets were empty, and houses were tucking themselves in for the night, so nobody noticed the two children and the enormous black bird. Or if they did, they weren’t telling.

  The trio walked for twenty minutes, and then the bird suddenly circled around and perched on the back of a bus stop bench.

  “What? Are we here?” Charlotte asked.

  The bird hopped up and down on the bench.

  “You want us to sit?” asked Charlotte.

  “Squawk,” said the bird.

  Charlotte looked at Zee. “I think we’re supposed to…wait for a bus?”

  Zee threw up his hands, as if nothing would surprise him anymore.

  So they sat. And they waited. It was late, and buses were few this time of night. After a
bout twenty minutes one finally pulled up, and Charlotte and Zee stood, but the bird started squawking madly, flew around their heads (awfully close, if you asked Charlotte), and perched on the bench again.

  So they waited. And waited some more. Charlotte took out a Fruit Roll-Up from her backpack. She offered one to Zee, who shook his head. Another bus pulled up, and still the bird sat. Then when the third bus came into view, the bird sprang from his perch, landing on the sidewalk. Charlotte and Zee stood up, and when the bus pulled up and the doors opened, the bird flew right in.

  “How’s that going to go over?” Charlotte muttered, counting her change.

  But the bus driver didn’t say a thing about the unusual passenger; he just watched Charlotte put her money in the till and waved them through.

  The bird had made himself comfortable on one of the seats toward the back of the bus and was proceeding to have another nice bath. Charlotte and Zee sat down next to him.

  “Where does this go?” Zee whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t even look….” She leaned up to check the bus number, then looked at the map. “It just goes into the southwest suburbs,” she said. “Near the airport? Oh, great. I can just see taking the bird on a plane.”

  Zee let out a little laugh. Just a little.

  A few stops down a man got on. He looked like one of the reasons Charlotte’s mother didn’t like her to take the bus at night. He was scruffy and thin, with a shabby trench coat (and honestly, if you’re a creepy man on the bus, shouldn’t you wear something besides a shabby trench coat? Really, it’s so typical. Let’s break form, shall we, people? Strive for originality!), and was carrying a plastic cup the size of Charlotte’s head, from which he slurped very noisily through a straw. The contents did not look like soda to Charlotte. Though the bus was empty, he sat opposite Charlotte and Zee and stared directly at them. Charlotte looked away, but she felt the man’s watery gaze still on her. Zee moved closer to Charlotte.

  The man cleared his throat. “Nice bird,” he rasped.

  Charlotte drew herself up. “Thank you,” she said formally. “He’s a messenger from the Underworld…. He bites!”