“Oh, I know you, little girl,” he continued. “I was the one who found you, you know…Zero’s blood led me to you. You helped us find so many wonderful shadows. But still, your blood is weak. I’ve tried to speak to it, but it’s just not the same. You just don’t have enough Zero in you…he’s twice the person you are. You’re really just a mongrel. An unfortunate, meddling mongrel with a rather unpleasant complexion. You’ll go scampering off to Hades and warn him, in some futile attempt to save the world. We can’t have that, can we?”
He stood up, brushed his hands off, and turned to the Footman who was holding her. “Throw her in the Styx.”
Charlotte was being carried in the arms of the Footman, like a damsel over a mud puddle, heading down the clearing toward the Styx. She could still hear Mr. Metos’s invectives echoing behind them, but the Footman did not stop. A Harpy flew overhead, looked down at them, screeched, “Freckle face!” and went on her way.
Charlotte tried to keep herself from struggling. She had to think. She kept hearing Zee’s whisper in her ear, whatever he had been trying to tell her when Philonecron confronted them. If I can—
If I can what ?
She could hear the sounds of the words, she could almost make them out, but not quite. For surely Zee had a plan, surely he did not mean just to give in, surely he had a way out of this.
Of course, she thought, it was just like him to give in to save her. Always so polite and generous all the time. Hiding behind his chivalry. So brave when it came to protecting Charlotte. Sure, evil guy, you can corrupt me, I’ll destroy the world, just to save Charlotte. Come on, now—don’t hurt my little cousin, she’s very fragile and can’t do anything by herself. Except for mouth off, maybe.
That’s a laugh. Charlotte was doing things by herself long before Zee got there. And if Zee didn’t have a plan, if he really was being such a stupidhead and sacrificing himself to save her, well, then…it was all up to Charlotte.
All up to Charlotte.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just walk away from this. It was time for Charlotte to act, time for her to take charge. Time for Charlotte to save the world. Once upon a time there was a girl named Charlotte who was not good for anything, until she saved the world.
But how?
And then she realized: Philonecron had told her exactly what to do. In his evil speech. “You’ll go scampering off to Hades and warn him,” he had said. Charlotte almost laughed out loud. Really, people should stop making evil speeches, because they always give themselves away.
And he had. He had given himself away, for that was exactly what Charlotte needed to do. She couldn’t fight off Philonecron, but Hades certainly could. He was a god. One of the biggies. One of the Big Twelve—really, the Big Three! And he surely had, you know, monsters working for him. Centaurs and Minotaurs and Gorgons (oh, my!). And stuff. All she’d have to do was make her way through the Underworld, find Hades, and convince him he was in danger. And that she could do, for she was Charlotte Mielswetzski, and she could talk.
But first she had to get free, as she was about to be in some very hot water—and she meant that quite literally.
The Footman was walking along slowly, stiffly, bearing her like a prize. As they went along and she didn’t fight back, he seemed to relax his grip on her a little, as if he’d forgotten she was animate, and Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to figure out how to get out of this. They really hadn’t covered this one in their self-defense unit in gym.
It was hard to think calmly. She did not want to die. Not ever, really, but not now, not here. She had to save the world. And then she had to go back and take care of Mew and write Caitlin and be nice to her mom and maybe try out for the gymnastics team again.
And then the Footman stopped suddenly. Charlotte felt a great heat near her, and her eyes popped open. They were on the banks of the Styx now, and the Footman was studying the river, as if to determine the proper trajectory in which to throw her. Charlotte’s heart raced, and she had to bite back the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Come on, Charlotte. It’s now or never. This is your chance. You are a heroine, and it is time to start acting like it. What does a heroine do?
The Footman stepped forward and death was before Charlotte, and something surged through her veins. She exploded into action. Quick as she could, she leaned over, bit the Footman on the shoulder (gross), kneed him in the stomach (payback), and elbowed him in the neck (for good measure). With a soundless cry of surprise the Footman dropped her. She felt steam hit her face—she was looking over the river now; one wrong move and she’d be in, but there was no time to think about that, she had to fight—and she sprang up, back toward the bank, scrambling up against the loose rocks. She looked around frantically—she could run, but where? She needed to get across the river, and she needed to stop the Footman from killing her. Actually, the latter was more pressing. The Footman had righted himself, and he bowed his head and smiled at her, then made a grab for her. Instinctively she ducked out of the way. She was small but quick; he was big but slow, and he tumbled forward. And there Charlotte saw her chance. She lunged behind him, and with a great breath she pushed, with all her might she pushed, his feet slipped on the rocks, and the Footman went headlong into the Styx.
Splash! The river roiled. The current began to carry him off, even as he bobbed up and tried to claw his way back to shore. The steam seemed to come up to him, it surrounded him, and before Charlotte’s eyes his face began to melt. Clay dripped and rolled, splashing into the bubbling water, until there was nothing left but a very tall, very narrow tuxedo floating off into the distance.
She had done it. She beat the Footman. She had lived. Better, she had survived.
But instead of feeling elated, she felt spent. Charlotte collapsed on the bank. Closing her eyes, she put her head in her hands and began to cry.
She cried for Mr. Metos, getting his liver pecked out. She cried for her gentlemanly cousin, who had punched her in the stomach, who thought he was saving her and was now in very great trouble. She cried for all the children who had lost their shadows. And, most of all, she cried for herself and what she had already done and how much she still had left to do.
That was enough bravery, enough heroism for one day. She had stopped the Footman from killing her. Charlotte Mielswetzski had acted, had seized life, had become everything everyone wanted her to be. Wasn’t that enough?
It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. She wasn’t done yet.
So then Charlotte Mielswetzski did the bravest thing she had ever done. She wiped her tears away and began to get up.
“That was impressive,” a nasal voice said.
Charlotte looked around. A few feet upstream was a small, thin, very old, and rather skuzzy-looking man sitting on a small wooden boat, chewing his cuticles. On the bank next to the boat was a great line of Dead. The line, formed by a vast network of velvet ropes and giant brass pedestals, wound and stretched as far as Charlotte could see. The man didn’t seem interested in the line at all. She turned back toward him.
“Thanks for your help,” she muttered, nodding to the spot where the Footman had fallen.
“Philonecron will be mad about the tux, though,” he continued. “A shame.” He smiled, revealing a toothless mouth, and climbed out of the boat onto the shore. “I won’t tell him who did it…if you make it worth my while.”
“You must be Charon,” Charlotte said.
“Yup,” said Charon. Charlotte eyed him. Boy, he was gross. His clothes were ragged and filthy, he was streaked with dirt, and he had a little greasy, gray, stringy beard. He made the creepy man on the bus look like a movie star. And after the events of the day, Charon—eternal Ferryman of the Underworld—looked like just another creepy man on a bus.
She sighed, got up, brushed herself off, and approached him. “Can you take me across?”
He frowned and sniffed her, then shook his head emphatically. “I don’t take living mortals over. Big trouble
. It’s always trouble.”
“I can pay.” Charlotte reached into her backpack and pulled out her allowance. “You can use the money to buy a new shirt,” she added.
Ignoring the last remark, Charon grabbed the money from her and counted it.
“Not enough,” he said. “What else you got?”
“Well…” Biting her lip, she reached into her backpack. “I have Fruit Roll-Ups….” She took out the box—as Charon watched carefully—opened it, grabbed a package, unwrapped it, and began to unroll. “They’re grape,” she said, peeling off a piece from the wax paper backing. “They’re really, really good!” She smiled brightly and tried to look convincing. Charon took the piece from her hands and licked it, then grabbed the whole Roll-Up and ate it, wax paper and all.
“Delicious!” he said, and grabbed the box. “So fruity! And so portable!…Okay, I’ll take you”—he squinted at her—“For the whole box.”
Charlotte sighed as if this were a great sacrifice. “All right, you win. But”—Charlotte turned to look at the lines of Dead—“what about them?”
“They have all the time in the world,” he smiled greasily. “Shall we?”
And Charlotte stepped carefully into the boat, and he began to row across the great river, through to the Land of the Dead.
CHAPTER 21
Zero
ZEE WANTED TO KILL PHILONECRON. NOT LIKE WHEN you’re really angry at someone and you say, “I’m gonna kill that guy,” but you don’t really mean kill kill. Zee meant kill kill. Zee meant a long, slow, painful death for Philonecron, effected by him, Zachary John Miller.
Never in his life had he felt hatred before. Real, pure hatred. It started in his chest and worked its way throughout his body. He could taste it in his throat, hear it in his ears, feel it rumble in his arms and tingle in his feet. Zee was a new person now—he knew what it was to hate.
Zee was sitting on a rock in a small, shallow cave, with one of the Footmen standing watch over him. The Footman had led him off, away from Charlotte and the banks of the Styx, through another passageway in the high rocks, and then tucked him into this cave, where he sat burning with hatred and thinking about just how he might go about killing an Immortal. Or at least causing him a lot of pain. Or at least—yes, that’s what he wanted—making Philonecron feel utterly helpless, utterly alone, utterly lost, just the way he had made Zee feel.
Can you imagine? Can you imagine being under the control of someone else? Can you imagine hurting your family because of it? Can you imagine feeling your body do things you never wanted it to do?
All of his life Zee had been master of himself. He had made his own choices and suffered the consequences for them. Now he no longer was. So who, then, was he? What became of someone who was utterly under the control of someone else? What became of someone who had no will? He was a robot, a cipher. He was nobody. He was Zero.
And he had punched Charlotte. He had hurt Charlotte. He would never ever, ever forget the way she had looked at him. At least she was safe now. He could do that for her. She was probably on her way back home, where she belonged. This wasn’t her battle. This was all his fault—his shadow, his blood—and it was up to him to make it all right.
He had had a plan, too. Or at the very least it was an idea. He came up with it when they were going down to the Underworld. There was only one way he could think of for an ordinary kid (him, specifically) to defeat someone like Philonecron. And if the shadows started their march, it seemed like the only option. But his plan required him. Zee. Not automaton Zee, but real Zee.
But he wouldn’t be able to do it. Because he could not fight off Philonecron, and that meant he was going to fail. He was going to fail and everyone was going to suffer for it.
And do you want to know the worst part? The worst part was that there was part of him that didn’t even care about everyone anymore—not about the kids, the shadows, the world—for all he wanted was to make Philonecron pay.
Zee picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could against the wall of the cave. The Footman gazed down at him imperiously, arching an eyebrow. Zee wanted to tell him off, but he couldn’t quite find the words. Charlotte would have told him off. Charlotte would have had just the right thing to say.
But Zee was not Charlotte. He was not even himself anymore. He was nobody.
Zee kicked the ground in front of him, and dust flew everywhere. The Footman’s other eyebrow went up, and Zee glared at him. Boy, that would show him!
“Zero!”
He turned. At the mouth of the cave was Philonecron, beaming and holding his arms out. Zee gulped down his hatred. “Charlotte’s safe?”
Philonecron clasped his hands together. “Oh my boy, I find your concern so touching. That’s the problem with the modern world; people just don’t care anymore. You care. It’s such a beautiful thing.”
“Is she safe ?” Zee asked. He could feel his mind fogging over a little at the sound of Philonecron’s voice. Yes, I care, yes, it is beautiful. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Would I go back on my word to you? I assure you, your little cousin is completely out of danger.”
Zee inhaled once, twice. He wanted to run to Philonecron and start pounding on him, but he couldn’t. Even if he could, he shouldn’t. Zee didn’t have anything else to do but try his plan, even though he knew it would fail. And that plan depended on Philonecron’s believing Zee was on his side.
“Zero, my boy!” Philonecron stepped forward. “Is something troubling you? You don’t seem yourself!”
Don’t seem myself. As Philonecron got closer, Zee’s head fogged more, and soon Philonecron’s voice seemed to be ingratiating itself with Zee’s very veins. Zee shuddered and tried to move back a little.
“No!” Philonecron said quickly. “No! Don’t retreat from me! Oh, Zero. Don’t you see? We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I.” He got down on his knees, grabbed Zee’s hands, and stared into his eyes. Zee was helpless to resist.
“My precious boy. We’re really going to change things! We’ll clear this place of bureaucrats, throw the Shades into Tartarus, and make a new world! Don’t you see? There’s nothing to be frightened of. You must be happy. Don’t look back anymore—look ahead! It’s going to be a bright, new day. Do you see?”
Bright, new day. Look ahead!
“Now, my Zero. What would you like to do first? Do you want to talk awhile? I could read to you. Would you like me to play the violin?…Or would you like to see your army?”
Zee sat up. Suddenly his mind was perfectly clear. “I would like to see the army,” he said.
Philonecron beamed and clapped his hands together. “Oh, how grand! How grand! The army it is, then! Oh, boys?”
Philonecron snapped his fingers, and two more Footmen entered the cave. There was barely room for them, and they had to sidle around Philonecron to get behind him. Not that there was anything behind them to get to—just a craggy cave wall.
Or so Zee thought. The Footmen stood on either side of the back wall of the cave, looked at each other, nodded, and in perfect synchronicity pressed down on two rocks that jutted out from the wall.
And then the wall evaporated. Just like that. Poof! Zee gasped. Their cave was not shallow at all, rather, it was the doorway of an enormous expanse, of a great cavern the size of several football pitches, lit by countless burning braziers. Zee’s eyes could not take it all in; it went on and on—but he knew the cavern was far, far bigger than the rock that housed it.
And the shadows were there. Thousands, tens of thousands, of four-foot-high figures—all lined up in perfect formation, waiting to be brought to life.
They were in the vague shape of people, yet without any real definition. They looked like, well, like shadows—black, flat, faceless, opaque, each one identical to the next. They had bodies that seemed to grow out of the ground, thick and shapeless at the bottom, narrowing up through the torso, with ovular bulges where the arms should have been and heads like candle flames
. And they were all perfectly, eerily still—objects forever stuck in space, an endless series of black paper dolls, like crosses in a military graveyard. The shadows stretched as far as Zee could see, and beyond, and still beyond that. They looked like a great ghost army frozen in time. Zee shuddered.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Philonecron. “If I do say so myself.”
Zee could only nod.
“Would you like to examine the troops?”
He nodded again. He hated to give Philonecron the satisfaction, but he did want to look more closely at the wonder before him. He needed to know what he was dealing with. So, willingly, he followed the creature who had taught him to hate into the room with the vast legions of shadows.
“See, my darling?” Philonecron said, holding his hands out. “This is what you have done.”
Slowly, carefully—aware of his heart beating too fast and the dry taste of fear in his mouth—Zee walked along the front row of the army, examining the soldiers.
As Zee studied the shadows, he tried to keep himself calm. He could look through one and see the foggy forms of those behind it, on and on. He reached out to touch one, slowly, and his hand passed through, as if through smoke.
“Oh, do not worry, my dear Zero!” Philonecron said. “As soon as you enchant them, they will be able to gain substance at will—or become as insubstantial as fog. It’s going to be quite devastating!” He cackled.
As Zee walked, he noticed that the farther away from Philonecron he was, the clearer his mind was. Philonecron was talking to him, but the words were just words—they stayed out of his head, out of his blood.