The boy sauntered up to her.
“Hey,” he said.
Charlotte stared. “Um, hey.” The boy was acting like he was, in fact, encountering her at the halls of Hartnett instead of the deathly terrain of the Underworld. Which was kind of cute, actually, in its own weird way.
“I’m Joshua.”
Charlotte bit her lip. That was her favorite name.
“Charlotte.”
The boy grinned. “I love that name! It’s my favorite.”
Charlotte’s heart raced. Who knew that she’d come to the Underworld and find love? What a magical, wondrous place the universe was!
“So, where are you going?” he asked, staring at her as if he might have a better idea.
“Um…” Charlotte gulped. She couldn’t say she was going to Hades to save the world, how dorky was that? What a grade-A loser she would sound like! “To the City,” she said vaguely.
“Cool,” The boy nodded. “Hey, though, I’ve got a better idea.”
“You do?” Charlotte’s knees seemed to be melting. She had always thought that was a figure of speech, but no, her knees were actually melting. Well, figuratively.
“Yeah. I’ve got great tickets to Tartarus. Have you ever been there?”
Charlotte drew back a bit. “Huh?”
“To Tartarus. It’s awesome. You really can see some great stuff. We could sit and make fun of everyone. It’ll be a blast.”
Charlotte blinked. “Well, I have to be somewhere,” she said vaguely.
“Aw, hell, it can wait. We’ll have fun. I have a private box.” He stared at her meaningfully.
“Oh!” Charlotte said. There was something going off in her mind, some kind of high-pitched beeping noise like the one that used to wake her up in the morning back in her old life, where she didn’t spend her time talking to really cute boys.
“What’s the point of saving the world, anyway? Someone else will do it. It’s not really your problem.”
Something inside Charlotte snapped. What was she doing?
“Yes!” she said loudly. “Yes, it is my problem!” It was her problem. She wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines of Tartarus and make fun of people, no matter how bad they had been in Life. She had to act. She had to save everyone, she was the only one who could. And, hey, how did he know—
“Okay!” He held up his hands. “Don’t have a Nemean lion!” He sighed heavily. “If you’d rather ‘save the world’…Do you want to make out first?”
“What?”
He stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder. The hand was strangely cold. “I said, do you want to make out? You’re really beautiful.”
And that’s when Charlotte got suspicious. The boy looked soulfully at her, and oh, he had such nice eyes, but those same nice eyes seemed to be focused on her…neck….
Charlotte wrenched away and then kicked the boy as hard as she could in a place you are absolutely not supposed to kick boys, unless they are really mind-reading vampiric demons trying to suck your blood. She reached into her backpack, pulled out some of her bottled water, and threw it all over the boy, who was rolling around on the ground wincing, and then she turned and ran.
It wasn’t holy water, of course; it was bottled in California. But it seemed to have some effect. Charlotte heard a loud, inhuman squeal, and she turned her head to see the boy transform into a flame-haired demon with the top of a woman, bronze horse-like legs, hooves, and, yes, a hideously long tail. The demon rolled around and howled, revealing two rather sharp-looking fangs, and Charlotte turned her head away and ran as fast as she could toward the City.
Charlotte had never been a particularly fast runner; she always finished in the middle of the pack in school fitness exams. But never during the exams had they used vampires to motivate Charlotte, and if they had, Charlotte would have been tops in the whole nation. It’s amazing the things you can do when you’re really motivated.
After she’d run for what seemed like hours but was probably minutes, Charlotte allowed herself a glance over her shoulder. There was no sign of the demon. She stopped and looked all around but didn’t see the creature anywhere. The Dead, too, had begun to re-form around her, solemnly, silently following in her path.
“Thanks for warning me,” she muttered.
The Dead said nothing. Charlotte exhaled. “Yeah, I guess I could have figured that one out on my own.”
Charlotte sighed and brushed some sweat off of her forehead. A night black centaur galloped past her, kicking dirt in her face. Her eyes stung and she tried to wipe them out as best she could.
Charlotte was tired. You couldn’t blame her; it had been a really, really, really long day. She’d been tired back in the passage to the Underworld, and that was several attempts to murder her ago. She’d been awake…oh, she didn’t even know how long. Time didn’t seem to have the same meaning in the Underworld. But her whole body felt ready to sink into the ground at any moment; she had to fight the urge just to curl up beside a nice rock and rest.
But she couldn’t. She had a job to do, and she would do it bravely and well, even if she didn’t have her gentlemanly cousin to go first all the time. And what of Zee? She hadn’t been able to give him any food, any water. What were they doing to him now? Would Philonecron hurt him? Had he done his part, and were the shadows now on the march?
Her muscles protested, her bones rebelled, but Charlotte kept moving. If she could just get to Hades, she could stop all this. If she could just get to Hades, everything would be all right.
And then finally, finally, she reached the gates to the City—imposing gates of intricately wrought iron framed by black stone. The archway was inscribed with words Charlotte could not read.
She turned to the column of the Dead. “Shall we go in?”
The Dead froze.
“What?”
They began to back away. Charlotte’s heart flipped, and she looked wildly around.
“More vampires?”
They backed away still farther. Charlotte looked to the gates and then back at them.
“You’re stopping here? You don’t want to come in?”
No, it appeared not. The truth began to dawn on Charlotte.
“You can’t go into the City, can you?…You’re not allowed?…Well, who’s it for, then?”
Silent, the Dead faded off into the distance. As they did, the gates creaked open for Charlotte. She took a final look behind her and then stepped into the City of Death.
CHAPTER 23
The All-Seeing One
CHARLOTTE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT SHE HAD BEEN expecting—something sort of medieval, sort of evil. Creepy, haunted-looking buildings, demons swooping in and out, lots of fire and skulls and people being tortured here and there. But it wasn’t that at all. The City was bustling with activity. Official-looking buildings made of stone lined the roads, gaslights lit the streets, and pairs of ox-size black horses pulled carriages and carts with signs like PEGASUS DELIVERY SERVICE or AJAX AND SONS’ GROCERY.
It would have looked like a picture of Victorian London, except for the strange reddish gray of the sky, the odd smell of burned leaves in the air, and the fact that the creatures on the street were decidedly not British. There were many who looked like men, like Philonecron—extremely tall, with four limbs and human faces, and dressed in bowler hats and frock coats. Others flew, crawled, or slithered—winged blue women, trotting centaurs, giant slugs, half-fish-half-men who carried tanks of water over their heads, hundred-eyed creatures, hundred-eared creatures, snake-haired women, and woman-haired snakes. All of them looked like they had very important places to be.
Many stared at Charlotte as she passed; some stopped right where they were and gaped. Each time Charlotte took a deep breath and snapped, “I’m going to the Palace.”
Which made them stare all the harder, but no one tried to stop her. Or, for that matter, eat her.
Through the winding, gaslit streets Charlotte went, heading always toward the Palace at the City
center—past office buildings with signs like DEPARTMENT OF MORALE PROMOTION and INTERNAL OPERATIONS AGENCY and the like. A giant, mausoleum-like building proved to be a school, and what seemed to be a cemetery next to it was a playground. Vast neighborhoods of stone houses stretched off like a network of tombs. She went past restaurants and clubs, in which strode men that could be Philonecron’s brothers, and in the middle of the City, just before the Palace, there was a park.
Not an Underworld park, rocky and bare, with pools of blood for community swimming. An Upperworld park, with a pretty gate and green grass and flowers and trees and benches and a giant, sparkling, crystal clear lake that looked like summertime and safety and warmth and life. The Palace loomed up ahead, waiting for her—but Charlotte couldn’t help it; she stepped into the park.
As soon as she crossed the gate, the rest of the Underworld disappeared. Gone was the Palace, the City, the musty, horrid smell. Gone was the ever present awareness of terror and Death and loneliness. Charlotte was back in the Upperworld, in a vast green park on the most beautiful day ever made. The sun shone warmly overhead, and puffy white clouds floated through the air. The wind carried the scent of lilacs. She walked up to a great elm tree, on which hung strange, wrinkled brown fruit like large, shriveled-up eggplants, the sun beaming down through the leaves. The lake sparkled and gleamed and seemed to beckon to Charlotte. She walked up to it and stared. She wanted to drink from it, dive in it, bathe herself and then swim off into forever—but she was pretty sure she shouldn’t. A small black-and-white bird burst from the lake and up into the sky, splashing water in his wake, then a yellow one followed, then a purple and orange bird, then an all white one. They soared off into the distance, into the vastness of the blue sky. Charlotte’s heart leaped with joy—she couldn’t stay, she had to go, but oh, she never wanted to leave. She walked over to a bench and sat down for a minute, closing her eyes and lifting her face in the air, basking in the warmth of the sun.
Her eyes popped open. Was that a noise? She turned her head back to the lake. There was a small, skinny old man in overalls, scattering birdseed along the banks, who had not been there before. He had pure white skin, with eyes like the lake in front of him. His face was gaunt and wrinkled, and wavy white hair hung past his shoulders. He looked up and started.
“Hello?” his gravelly voice rang through the air.
“Um, hi,” Charlotte said, taking a step back and checking his mouth for fangs.
“I’m sorry, but…”—he stared at her, blinking—“Are you mortal?”
Charlotte nodded slowly.
“Oh my!” he said. “Oh my!”
Charlotte looked around uncomfortably. It was just her luck to have some creepy guy ruin paradise for her.
“Listen…” He took a step toward her. “Could you do me a favor? Could you look into the lake for me?”
“What?”
“Just stand on the bank and look at the lake. I just want you to tell me what you see.”
Charlotte stared at him suspiciously.
He held up his hands and smiled kindly. “I’m not going to play any tricks or push you in or anything. I’ll stand back here. I just want to know what you see. Please?”
Actually, the old guy wasn’t so creepy. He seemed fairly nice, really. But…
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “Where are we?” She shook her head. The whole place had the feel of a dream, but she knew she was awake. “I have to go. I have to get back to the Underworld. I have to hurry.”
The man nodded. “We’re still in the City. I just like it better this way.” He gestured around him. Charlotte didn’t blame him. “You don’t have to worry, time doesn’t pass here, not like it does in the rest of the Underworld.”
Charlotte bit her lip. She couldn’t help it; she was a little curious about what was going on. And the lake was just so peaceful—she’d seen so many ugly, horrible, awful, deathly things today, she couldn’t help wanting a little beauty. Another small bird broke through the water and flew up to the sky.
Charlotte took a deep breath, stepped forward, casting a glance back at the man to make sure he was not, indeed, going to push her in, and then gazed down at the lake.
As she looked down at the lake’s surface, something flickered in front of her—not quite a reflection, just the idea of one—and then disappeared. And then Charlotte saw nothing reflected in the lake, nothing at all. She shivered a little. Was she a vampire now too? She looked up at the old man. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing there.”
“Not your own reflection?”
“At first, maybe,” Charlotte said. “But then nothing.”
“Fascinating!” He peered at her. “Would you describe yourself as unformed?”
Charlotte took a step back. This was getting a little personal.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should have explained. This is the lake where dreams come from.”
“Dreams?”
“Dreams,” he nodded. “Night visions? You know. This park belongs to Hypnos; he’s a big shot for Hades. Dreams and sleep are supposed to be his domain, but he’s too busy now hiring and firing people and creating Divisions and the like. I watch over things for him, take care of the grass and the birds.” A black bird burst from the lake and flew up into the sky. “Oooh, that one looked nasty.” He shook his head. “The dreams fly up on their own, or else someone down here comes on in and conjures one up to send to somebody up there.”
With a flash Charlotte remembered her dream—the ground cracking around her, the Footmen coming up to grab her. Had someone sent that to her? Why? To warn her? But who?
A rustling came from the towering tree next to Charlotte. She looked up. One of the shriveled brown fruits had begun to wiggle around just above her head. Then the fruit leaped from the branch into the air—no, it wasn’t a fruit at all, but a bat, a horrid, sickly looking bat stretching out its wings. No, not a bat—the creature spread its wings out and, before Charlotte’s eyes, transformed into a great, beautiful bird—like a mix between a swan and a peacock, but colored in pure gold. Its feathers gleamed. The bird let out a cry that sounded like the singing of a harp, and went off into the sun.
“So beautiful!” Charlotte said.
The man grunted. “No, it’s not. That’s the Elm Where False Dreams Cling. There’s nothing beautiful about it. Remember that, mortal, it’s the most beautiful dreams that are false.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said. She looked back at the lake. “Why can’t I see myself?”
The man shook his head. “Supposedly, when mortals look into the lake, they see, well, not themselves, really. But a dream of themselves. Something they want to be or something they are becoming. I would guess you don’t know yet.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said. “Oh.”
“It’s okay,” the man said. “I bet in a couple years you’ll come back here and see something for sure.”
Charlotte shuddered. One thing she knew, she was not coming back here.
“I have to go,” she said. “I have to go.”
“All right,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.”
Charlotte nodded at the old man and headed back toward the gate. She didn’t see that as she turned, her reflection shone in the lake, clear and strong.
Stepping back into the City, Charlotte felt loneliness and exhaustion wash over her again. The rotting, moldy, smoky smell hit her with full force, darkness surrounded her, and cold seemed to seep into her veins. Unwittingly she felt tears spring to her eyes, and she shivered.
The park was behind her now, the Palace ahead. She was so close to being done; she would talk to Hades, and then he would stop Philonecron and free Zee, and they could go back home and leave this horrible place behind.
There was no bustling on the Palace grounds, and no bowler hats either. The Palace stood right in the center of the City, yet seemed strangely apart from it too. It stood six stories high and was made entirely of black marble. Three onion-shaped domes of various sizes reached up i
nto the sky. The walls were perfectly plain, except for two stately columns (Ionic, Charlotte noted. Her art teacher would be so proud!), which framed the front door. All else was shiny, smooth blackness.
Surrounding the Palace was a great, three-story iron gate. Charlotte inhaled, then pushed on the gate, which squeaked like a very large bat. There was a long path paved in gold, and framing it were thin, bowing trees with small red fruit clinging to the branches.
Charlotte walked up to the massive black door, stood on her very tippy toes, and knocked.
No answer.
She tried again, louder, loud enough to wake the…Dead.
She stood back and studied the front door, arms crossed. It would be just her luck to come all this way and not be able to get in.
Stepping back, she cupped her hands to her mouth. “Helloooo?” she called. “Anyone there?”
Before her eyes one of the front columns seemed to stir. Two eyes popped open sleepily, then a mouth appeared, which let out a great yawn. Charlotte stared.
“Yeesssss?” the column asked in a rather dusty voice.
“Um, hi,” Charlotte said.
“Hello,” said the column. “May I help you?”
“Um, yes,” Charlotte said, more squeakily than she would have liked. “I’m here to see Hades. It’s extremely urgent—”
“You are? Really!” The column stared at her.
“Yes…”
“Most curious,” he said. “Don’t see your kind much here…don’t see anyone, really. Well, I should get someone to open the door for you, shouldn’t I?”
“That would be great, um…sir?”
“One moment, please,” he said politely.
The eyes and mouth disappeared—Charlotte didn’t want to think where to—and a few moments later reappeared.
“Someone will be right with you.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “Um, I don’t want to be rude, but are you, you know, trapped in there?” She’d read about people in Greek myths getting punished by being trapped in trees. Columns were another story, but…