There were more Dead, and more, and soon the cousins realized that they were at the center of a great crowd of them, that the crowd was reaching toward them, pushing toward them, trying to get a glimpse of Life. The Dead were everywhere. They crowded, thicker and thicker, until they became indistinct from one another. The Dead were the air, and the air was the Dead, and the cousins were surrounded. Never had Charlotte been so cold.
“How do we…how do we tell them apart?” Zee asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte whispered, casting a glance at him. He looked overwhelmed, strangely desperate, and achingly sad. Charlotte had an urge to put her arm around him and lead him away from all this, but she could not. And she knew, anyway, that right now he would not go. And maybe now, with the world at stake, she wouldn’t go either. Yes, Charlotte Mielswetzski was going to try harder. Though, right now, she would rather not meet new people.
“Do you think we can talk to them?” Zee asked. “Maybe they can help us.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I have no idea,” she whispered. She was sort of hoping the answer was no.
Zee turned his head a little toward one part of the crowd. Sucking his breath in, he took a step toward them. “Um…hello?”
A great shudder seemed to pass through the Dead, and Zee shuddered in concert. Charlotte hung back, hugging herself tightly.
“Hello?” Zee said again, nearly in a whisper. The Dead trembled, but they did not respond. “Uh…can you talk?”
Nothing.
“Hello?” he whispered. He kept getting quieter and quieter, and soon it seemed he would not be able to make any sound at all. He looked around desperately, and Charlotte caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes. She inhaled and, taking a step toward him, put her hand gently on his arm.
“Your grandma wouldn’t be here, you know,” she said softly. “She’d be on the other side.”
Zee turned his gaze from the Dead toward Charlotte. He sighed and nodded slowly. “We better just keep moving,” he said. “Come on.” He tugged at her arm, and they went, through the light, through the Dead, toward the Styx.
They climbed their way through the craggy Outer Banks, now ignoring the great fog of Dead that huddled around them. The rocks grew and grew, and great cliffs rose from the landscape ahead of them. They reached a small passageway in the cliffs, exchanged a glance, and stepped in. At that point the Dead stopped following them, and Charlotte tried not to wonder why. Was it worse to have the Dead following you, or for them not to want to go where you were going?
Zee seemed to have calmed a little; he was looking ahead, not back, and he’d stopped trembling. Charlotte understood. They couldn’t talk to the Dead, they couldn’t think about his grandmother, they couldn’t focus on the task ahead of them (for they had no idea what they were supposed to do), all they could do was keep walking.
Slowly they began to hear noises again, strange to their ears after all the deathly quiet. They could hear distant, scratchy, singsongy voices that sounded all too much like the Harpies for Charlotte’s taste. From somewhere far away came a few sudden cries, which exploded, then were extinguished—whether from an animal or a human, Charlotte could not tell. As they passed deeper into the rock passage, a twittering began to accompany them, a hollow whistle that sounded like the death of spring. Charlotte looked up and saw what seemed to be the skeletons of small birds flying above their heads. She inhaled sharply. There were small holes in the rock face, and little bird skulls were peering out from them here and there. Some skeletal bodies sprang from the rock and joined the pack. The songs multiplied; the pack of birds thickened. There were more and then more, and soon Charlotte’s ears were ready to burst with all the sound. There were packs, droves, and as Charlotte looked up to see the sky darkening with them, the bird skeletons looked down and noticed her. One came swooping down from the sky, then another, then the whole pack of the deathly creatures dived right toward Charlotte and Zee. Charlotte screamed, and the cousins covered their eyes with their hands as they dropped to the ground. They felt the birds coming closer, closer, barreling right toward them, until, as one, they turned and flew off through the passageway. While Charlotte and Zee crouched on the ground, a group passed inches from their heads, bone wings making strange creaking noises in the air.
And then they were gone, they had flown off into the distance, and the cousins got up, trembling, and walked forward again. Soon all other sounds became drowned out by the rushing of the river—strong, fierce, and near.
They emerged to find themselves on flat land. In front of them stood a smaller white boulder, and up ahead in the distance flowed the waters of the Styx, which were—Charlotte’s eyes had not been deceiving her—in fact, steaming. Well. They were certainly not going to swim across. Charlotte was eyeing the river nervously when suddenly she heard a strangled noise come from Zee.
“Charlotte! Look up!” He had turned around and was pointing to the top of the cliff they had just passed through.
A man was chained to the cliff, a shirtless man dangling against the rock face, with blood all over his stomach. Three Harpies were circling around his head. And even though she could not really see his face, Charlotte knew.
“Mr. Metos!” she exclaimed.
“Oh my god,” said Zee.
“Oh my god,” said Charlotte. She cupped her hands and shouted, “Mr. Metos? We’re here! We came!”
The man started and looked down. His eyes popped. “What are you doing here?” he yelled fiercely.
Charlotte and Zee exchanged a glance. “We got your message!”
“I didn’t send you a message! I told you the last thing we wanted was for you to be down here. Do you think I’d then send you a message telling you to come down here?”
Charlotte stumbled back. “You didn’t send the message?”
“No,” said a silky voice behind them. “I did.”
CHAPTER 20
Oops
THE COUSINS WHIRLED AROUND. A MAN WAS STRIDING toward them, or something like a man—really, he was too tall to be a man, and, frankly, too evil looking. He wore a black tuxedo topped with a white cravat and had a black cape. Black, spiky hair framed a thin, cruel gray face, and red eyes matched red lips that seemed to stretch on for miles. The lips smiled; large, bony hands clapped; and a voice oozed, “Hello, my sweets!”
Mr. Metos bellowed, “Run!”
No need to tell them twice. Charlotte and Zee turned and ran—in their minds they traveled back through the passage, back through the fog of Dead, back through the rocks and the cave, through the endless tunnel, through the very plain door, through the Mall, on the bus, and back home.
But in reality they made it about three steps. The man’s voice sang out, “Oh, lads?” and just like that, the Footmen appeared from the shadows. Two, four, six…twelve of them surrounded Charlotte and Zee in a perfect circle. The cousins looked around wildly, but there was nowhere to go.
Oh, they were hideous. It was one thing to see two of them hovering over you in a neighborhood street—okay, that was a big thing, but still—it was quite another to see twelve of them surrounding you in the rocky plains of the Stygian banks, their lips cracking, their yellow eyes glowing, their white faces flickering in the strange, unsteady light of the Underworld. Charlotte and Zee drew toward each other and grabbed hands. Zee urgently whispered something to Charlotte, but she could not hear over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She shook her head at him, and he whispered again, “If I can—”
But Philonecron loudly cleared his throat, then with a flourish of his cape the demon-like man glided into the circle next to Charlotte and Zee, and Charlotte could not catch the rest of Zee’s words.
“I’ve been so rude! I haven’t introduced myself,” the demon-like man said. “I am Philonecron.” He bowed deeply and then surveyed them, smiling strangely. “Oh my darlings, I’m so glad you are here!” he enthused. “It’s been quite a challenge to get you down here, you know. I tried kidnapping, I
tried seducing you through your dreams….” He clucked, staring at Zee. “Fortunately, when your meddling friend came down here”—he pointed up at Mr. Metos—“it gave me an idea.”
From his unfortunate position on the cliff, Mr. Metos started yelling something at Philonecron in a language that Charlotte did not understand, but one thing she could tell: The words did not sound like nice words.
“Really, Metos, such language,” Philonecron chided, looking up at him. “Why don’t you be quiet so my Harpies can enjoy their dinner? Liver is their favorite.”
From up in the air, where the Harpies circled around her English teacher, Charlotte could hear the very distinct sound of raspy nursery rhymes. She whirled toward Philonecron.
“You can’t do that to him!” she yelled. Zee clenched her hand.
“Oh, can’t I?” Philonecron smiled haughtily.
“He’s mortal,” she protested, ignoring Zee. “His liver won’t regenerate…he’ll die!” There were tears in her eyes, which she tried to will away. I will be brave, she thought. I will be brave.
“Ah, I see you know your history, my dear girl. Do not worry, I would not let Metos get out of his due punishment so easily. I’ve cast a spell—his liver will regenerate every night so my Harpies can feed on it anew in the morning.” He clapped his hands together and smiled brightly. “Feel better? Now, what else…you’ve met my men. Lads?”
As one, the twelve Footmen bowed. Charlotte noticed that one of them was wearing a bandage around his ankle, and his pant leg was frayed. Philonecron followed her gaze.
“Yes, your little hellcat destroyed a perfectly good pair of tuxedo pants,” he growled, shaking his head tragically, “not to mention an ankle. Poor Epsilon! Poor, beautiful trousers!” Philonecron sighed. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. My children. Do you know how long I’ve waited to meet you? Not you so much”—he glared at Charlotte—“but you, my precious, my sweet, my little Zero.”
Zee gasped involuntarily and took a step back.
“Oh, no, no, no…don’t be scared! Don’t be,” Philonecron said softly, creeping closer to Zee. “Don’t you see? You’re home now!” He put his arms out and gazed lovingly at Zee. “My dear, I know. I know you’ve never felt comfortable anywhere. I know that.” He nodded earnestly. “I’m just like you. I never had a place in the world either, until now. But here”—he twirled, arms wide—“with me, my little Zero, you belong.”
Charlotte moved in front of her cousin, stomping her foot on the ground. “Stay away from him!”
“My, aren’t you saucy,” Philonecron smirked, reaching down and patting her on the head. “Now, be quiet. Zero and I have much to discuss.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, but Zee moved in front of her, as if she weren’t even there. “Why are you calling me that?” he whispered urgently.
“Why,” Philonecron wrapped his hands around Zee’s cheeks, “that’s who you are, my sweet. My Patient Zero. Brave and strong and handsome and clever. Oh so clever! You are going to start an army. A revolution!” He tapped Zee on the nose with one finger and smiled kindly.
That was the last straw. It was one thing to insult her, but another to abuse Zee. Zee was sensitive. Charlotte found herself starting toward Philonecron—surprising even herself—and, in a blink, three of the Footmen moved to her, one grabbing her by the shoulders. She squirmed. From his perch Mr. Metos started yelling again.
“Why do you think I’m going to help you?” Zee asked dully. He looked so strange, Charlotte thought. Not struggling at all, not defiant, just staring up at Philonecron, sounding like he really wanted to know the answer to the question. She didn’t understand. He’d been fighting all this time, the whole way—he was the brave one. Why was he stopping now?
“Because you are my precious Zero,” Philonecron said. “And because you will see it’s…for the best.” He nodded menacingly toward Charlotte. She shuddered, and the Footman tightened his grip. “And if you do not, I can simply hypnotize you, make you say the spell, then leave you at the mercy of the Harpies.” From above, the Harpies let out a little cheer.
“I have your blood, my boy,” he purred. “I know you. I know your blood. I know what makes it sing, what makes it flow, what makes it boil. Remember your little sleepwalking trip?” He leaned down to Zee and looked him in the eyes, his voice growing soft and dreamy. “Zachary,” he sang, “lift up your left arm.”
And before Charlotte’s eyes Zee’s left arm went up. Something inside Charlotte screamed.
Zee gasped and slammed his arm down at his side, then balled up his hands as if he were going to start punching Philonecron—who didn’t seem at all concerned.
“Now, Zachary,” he murmured, looking back and forth from Charlotte to Zee, “take those lovely fists and go punch your little cousin in the stomach.”
“Hey!” Charlotte yelled.
But Zee said nothing. He just turned toward Charlotte. His face was contorted, his eyes burning, his every muscle clenching. Yet he began to move to her stiffly, slowly, painfully, looking like a very uncomfortable zombie. Mr. Metos kept shouting from above, and Philonecron let out a merry laugh. Charlotte could only stare as her cousin stopped right in front of her. He looked at her helplessly, then closed his eyes. Charlotte squirmed again, and the Footman held her tightly.
“Zee!” Charlotte screamed.
“No cheating!” Philonecron sang. “Punch her as hard as you can.”
Well, maybe he was just pretending, Charlotte thought. Maybe Zee was pretending to be under Philonecron’s control to trick him, and—
And then suddenly a truck ran into Charlotte’s stomach, and everything went black for a moment. She tried to gasp, to take in air, but she couldn’t breathe. She was completely empty, hollow, and her body sang with the pain of it. She tried to take in air again and again—she was going to die, right there, her ears were buzzing with death—and then finally her lungs filled. Breathe. Deep. Breathe. Her legs had given out and tears were streaming down her face. Breathe. Breathe. Come on, Charlotte, you can breathe. Philonecron was laughing, and in front of her, tears dripped from her cousin’s eyes. Charlotte stared at him plaintively.
“Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he whispered desperately, “I’m so, so, so sorry….”
“Come back, Zero,” Philonecron said. And Zee turned and walked back, tears silently flowing. “Now, stay still. That’s my boy. Yes, you see”—he smiled brightly to the whole group—“I can make Zero do whatever I want…but that’s not as much fun, is it?” He turned to Zee and held his arms out to him. “Wouldn’t it be better to do this together, my Zero? Yes, I really thought…” He looked down at the ground, shaking his head, gathering himself. “I really thought this would be something we could do together.”
Zee’s whole body was trembling with rage. The tears had stopped running, and now his face was twisted over with hatred. He stared at Philonecron as if he were the devil. One breath, two, three…something seemed to pass over Zee, and he closed his eyes and was still a few moments.
Charlotte stared, still gasping. Philonecron stroked Zee’s face with a bone-like finger, and then Zee opened his eyes and turned to look at Charlotte. The Footman grinned, put his arm around Charlotte’s waist, and lifted her in the air. Charlotte tried to kick, to fight back, but her muscles just wouldn’t work. Zee shook his head and looked at the ground.
Charlotte knew that look by now. That was the This is all my fault look. That was Zee’s My grandmother is dead look. That was his I don’t want anyone else to suffer look. Charlotte gasped, “Zee!” The Footman clamped his other hand around her mouth. She bit down, but he did not let go. She got the worse end of that deal; his hand tasted like mold.
And then Zee spoke. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly, “if you let Charlotte and Mr. Metos go.”
“Zachary, no!” Mr. Metos shouted.
“No!” screeched the Harpies as one.
“Ah, my boy.” Philonecron clasped his hands together, his eyes filling. “You’re so n
oble! I knew you would be. You’re a wonderful, wonderful boy.” He nodded affectionately at Zee. “But, alas…we all have our destinies. Metos is destined to be on the menu at my little restaurant for all eternity. A house specialty, as it were. You can’t fight destiny, my boy. You’ll learn that. But your little friend, well, why not?”
“You’ll let Charlotte go?” Zee stared at Philonecron.
“Zee!” Charlotte yelled.
Zee turned to glare at her. “Would you let me do the talking for once ?” he snapped.
Charlotte gaped. Yes, the circumstances were extreme, but there was no need to be rude.
“I will,” Philonecron said. “For you, Zero, I will let her go. Now, come with me.”
He held out his hand and Zee took it. Charlotte didn’t know if he had done so out of force or will. Mr. Metos was still shouting things that Charlotte, by this point, was beginning to understand. Philonecron led Zee to one of the Footmen, who bowed. “Now, you go with Alpha here, and he’ll take you to the shadows, all right? I’ll meet you there.” He smiled giddily. “Oh my boy, we’ll remake the world! What a grand thing! What a great day it is!”
The two walked off, Zee shooting looks at Charlotte all the while, as if he was trying to communicate something. But what?
Philonecron stood on his tiptoes, watching them go off into one of the caves. “Bye!” he waved.
He turned to Charlotte. The Footman still held her by the stomach, and Charlotte winced when he squeezed. Philonecron walked up to her, chucked her on the chin, and kneeled in front of her, grabbing her hands.
“My dear,” he smiled earnestly. “I’d like to let you go. I really would. I don’t want to deceive the poor boy just as he and I are developing an interpersonal trust. But my Zero, he is, well, naive. An idealist. You know how he is. You and I, we’re realists, we know how the world works. And you know I can’t just let you go.” He grinned menacingly. As he talked, something in Charlotte’s mind began to soften, as if someone had turned the dimmer switch down a bit. She shook her head back and forth.