The Shadow Thieves

  And then the shadows sprang. They moved like shot fire, hurling through the air, trailing darkness behind them. They were on the Footmen in a blink, swarming over them, and the Footmen seemed swallowed by darkness.

  They didn’t have a chance. Some shadows stretched out like snakes and slithered over them, cutting swaths through their bodies. Others grew themselves long legs, which they used to wrap around the Footmen’s waists, and long arms, which they used to pull the Footmen’s arms from their shoulders and smash them to the ground. Others wrapped themselves around the Footmen’s legs and squeezed until the legs fell off. The Footmen flailed around, trying to toss shadows aside, but they couldn’t get hold of them. Some of the shadows dived right into the Footmen and then burst out again, spewing dust everywhere as Zee watched, wide-eyed, shuddering. Still the Footmen struggled and flailed, large bits missing from their bodies, while their body parts fell off and shattered on the ground. Their heads toppled and fell, eerie grins frozen on their faces, then smashed against the ground too. Soon there was nothing left of them but shredded tuxedo and chunks of clay.

  Zee could barely breathe. His whole body was wracked with shivers. The shadows retreated, retracted, slid over to him calmly, and stood at attention again—waiting for their next target. Zee imagined them tunneling inside his own body, bursting out, sending chunks of Zee everywhere while he watched himself being eaten from the inside out. What on earth had he done?

  Zee closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, then suddenly remembered Mew. He hurried over to the corner where she was lying on her side whimpering. He crouched down next to her.

  “Dear cat, are you all right?” he whispered gently.

  He carefully ran his hands over her rib cage, her hips, her spine, her back legs, then her front. She let out a little yelp and hopped up. Her left front leg dangled in the air, crooked.

  “Oh, Mew!” Zee said. “They broke your leg. Does it hurt too badly?” She cocked her head and looked at him sadly. “Oh, Mew…” He looked around the room, then grabbed a piece of tuxedo and gently wrapped up the kitten’s leg. “You know,” he murmured, scratching her chin, “you really are an extraordinary cat.”

  Then he gasped. Mew was covered in blood.

  Oh, he realized slowly, it was his blood, from his arm. It wasn’t gushing or anything—more of a steady dribble, really. Zee ripped off another strip of tuxedo, wrapped it around the wound, picked Mew up delicately, motioned to the shadows, and made his way out of the cave.

  Zee had to hurry. Philonecron had left ages ago; it could already be too late. He’d stumbled at every turn since they’d come down to the Underworld. It would be just his luck to arrive at the Palace after Hades had been overthrown. Carrying Mew gently in his arms, Zee turned back into the passageway in the cliffs through which the Footman had led him before. The shadows floated behind him. He kept glancing back at them to make sure they were still in place, still contained—in a second they could leap at him and tear him to pieces.

  But no, they were calm still—floating gently just above the ground. They were perfectly silent and utterly attentive to Zee. There was no indication that they had just ripped two creatures to bits. Zee felt like Dr. Frankenstein, only his monsters were truly capable of evil. They had no conscience, no heart, no remorse—and they were devastatingly fast, utterly malleable, and, it seemed, supremely powerful.

  And they obeyed his every word.

  Zee shivered again.

  Mew was perched in his arms, peering ahead to the light at the end of the passageway. A few of the skeleton birds flew above them, and Mew stared up at them and hissed loudly. She was talking tough, but Zee could feel her trembling against his body, and her eyes were dull and sad.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered to her. “I can’t take you to the Palace like this.”

  She turned and glared at him.

  “You’ve got a broken leg, cat, and I have to hurry. We could be too late already. You can’t limp to the Palace.”

  She narrowed her eyes and let out a small grunt.

  “Of course, I need someone to protect me from these guys,” he murmured, motioning behind him at his small shadow regiment. They still followed loyally, bodylike puffs of smoke moving silently through the air.

  Finally they emerged from the cliff into a clearing, the same rocky clearing where they had first encountered Philonecron, where everything had gone so terribly wrong. And that’s when Zee remembered…

  Mr. Metos!

  Zee whirled around and looked up at the cliff face. Mr. Metos was still there (where, exactly, would he have gone?), now hanging limply from his chains. Zee’s heart froze. Was he still alive? Philonecron had said he had made Mr. Metos’s liver immortal, but not the rest of him. Could he truly survive?

  Zee heard singing in the distance and he shuddered. He couldn’t leave Mr. Metos up there. He cast a glance toward the steaming river in the distance. Beyond it lay the Land of the Dead, the Palace, Hades—and somewhere, Philonecron and the shadows. Had they reached the Palace? Had they reached Hades? How much time would it take for Zee to get across? Too much. There was no time, he knew that.

  And he looked back up at Mr. Metos—bloody and limp. Somehow Grandmother Winter had known him, or known about him. She had been trying to tell Zee to find him, he knew that now. Grandmother Winter had chosen Mr. Metos for a reason; she believed in him. And now Zee had to save him.

  He turned to the shadows, who were standing in formation behind him. “Shadows! That man is chained to the cliff.” Zee pointed toward Mr. Metos, his stomach twisting.

  Was he condemning humanity to save one man? He had no choice. There are people in the world who have the constitution to sacrifice one for many. Zee was not one of those people. “He’s been injured. I want you to unchain him and bring him down to me. Be very careful with him.”

  In a moment two of the shadows sprang from the group. Long arms and legs flickered out from their bodies like flames from a fire, and in a blink they were swimming up the rock face, their arms and legs treading air as they moved swiftly upward. Zee’s stomach turned; he’d rather expected them to go the normal way, like walking up a path. They were inhuman, unreal; they were shadowy monsters who moved like night. Were their counterparts swarming up the walls of the Palace even now?

  Soon—frighteningly soon—the two of them had reached Mr. Metos. Zee watched as, in perfect synchronicity, they each stretched an arm out into the iron manacles that held him. In the next moment the manacles exploded—bits of iron flew everywhere. Zee hugged himself.

  And then Mr. Metos began to fall. A gargled scream escaped from Zee’s throat as he watched the man plunge toward the ground. Zee tried to yell something to the shadows—anything—but his words choked in his mouth. Mr. Metos’s arms went out into the air, thrashing, a drowning man trying desperately to swim in sky.

  It was as though the Footmen were there, slowing time down—but they were not; there was only a helpless Zee, a flailing, plummeting Mr. Metos, and the murderous shadows.

  Zee closed his eyes and clutched Mew to him, waiting to hear the sickly thump of man against ground.

  But the sound never came. His eyes opened and he saw a thicket of shadows in front of him, arms raised into the sky, holding Mr. Metos up in the air as if he were a virgin to be sacrificed. The shadows walked Mr. Metos over to Zee and deposited him gently at his feet, then stood at attention again. Mew let out a squeak, burst out of Zee’s arms, and limped her way toward Mr. Metos, while aftershocks of horror rippled through Zee’s body.

  Mr. Metos lay on the ground, clutching his stomach, grimacing at the shadows, and muttering to himself. Zee sprang over to him.

  “Mr. Metos, are you all right?”

  Mr. Metos looked at Zee darkly and shook his head. “Zachary, you fool! There was no time for this. You should have—” Suddenly he stopped talking; Mew had started bonking her head lightly against Mr. Metos’s arm, and he was staring at her, wide eyed. “Is that a
cat ?”

  “Yes,” Zee said. “It’s Charlotte’s cat….” He paused, then asked carefully, “You don’t…know her, do you?” If she were some sort of Greek somebody, it would explain a lot.

  But Mr. Metos just looked at Zee oddly. “The cat? No!” He shook his head quickly. “What is she doing down here?”

  Zee shrugged. “Saving us?”

  Mr. Metos tried to prop himself up and then winced abruptly. He sighed and laid his head back. “I must admit, Zachary,” he said softly, “I do appreciate your getting me down….”

  Zee regarded Mr. Metos. His eyes had lost their sharpness, his skin was deathly pale, and his mouth was set with strain. Blood slowly seeped from his stomach.

  “Here,” Zee said, taking off his T-shirt. “Use this.” He placed the shirt against Mr. Metos’s stomach, and Mr. Metos nodded and pressed his hand lightly against the shirt. “Mr. Metos, what happened?”

  Mr. Metos closed his eyes. “They knew I was coming. The Footmen were waiting for me. Charon must have told them. I was a fool.” He shook his head and broke off in a fit of some very nasty-sounding coughing.

  “Oh…”

  “I thought I could just sneak down here and free the shadows. This is all my fault.” He blinked and stared at Zee intently. “Zachary, you have to go. You have to go now. They’re already in the City.” He smiled grimly. “I’m afraid I had quite a good view.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You enchanted these shadows, Zachary.” He motioned around him. “You know what to do.”

  Zee nodded. He did know what to do. He had known all along.

  “Zachary,” he continued, “when you get to the Styx, there’s a bridge. The shadows built it, I saw them. Just cross it.” Zee looked at him questioningly. “Don’t worry about Charon, you’ll find him lying unconscious in his boat with a nice lump on his head.” He closed his eyes and took in a labored breath, then looked at Zee again. “And then head straight for the City, as fast as you can. You’ll know where to go…Charlotte certainly did.”

  Zee stopped. “Charlotte?”

  “Zachary,” he said, and coughed again, “you’ll learn that there are some people in the world you can’t make deals with. A Footman tried to drown her, but she turned the tables on him.” Mr. Metos allowed himself another grim smile. “That’s a tough cousin you have. She made her way all the way to the City, and that’s the last I saw of her. Now, go. Go as fast as you can. It may already be too late.”

  Zee nodded. He regarded Mew, who stared at him earnestly, her bound leg dangling in the air. “You stay with Mr. Metos, okay?” She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He leaned over and scratched her on the head, and she mewed softly. “You can come save me if I get into trouble.” He turned to the shadows and motioned to the injured pair. “Protect them. If I don’t come back”—he gulped—“take them to the Upperworld. Listen to Mr. Metos, he will tell you what to do. Follow his orders as if they were mine.”

  Mr. Metos nodded. Zee nodded back, and with a last glance at the bleeding man, the injured cat, and the lurking shadows, Zee made his way to the Styx.

  CHAPTER 25

  The Shadows Come

  YES, CHARLOTTE DID HEAR SOMETHING. VERY definitely. Some sort of rumbling thing, some sort of stomping thing, some sort of banging and thumping thing. Something was coming.

  The shadows were coming. The shadows were coming, and they were coming loudly and they were coming soon. In the throne room the two gods and the girl froze, listening to the approach of their doom.

  So this is what it sounds like: Gentle at first, a thunderstorm off in the distance. It grows louder, and louder still; the sound begins to overtake the pounding of your heart. There is fire, there is destruction, and there is this—this relentless approach. You are still, you are aware, and there is nothing you can do but wait.

  Hades stood up and swept to one of the pairs of glass doors, and Thanatos quickly followed, with Charlotte—heart in throat—following right behind.

  From the balcony one could look over the entire Kingdom. Charlotte could not help but think Hades did not do that very often. On a given day, standing on this balcony, he could see his bustling City; he could see his languishing Dead; he could see the great, smoking blackness of Tartarus; the steaming, snakelike form of the Styx, with Charon on his boat and the unending line of Dead waiting patiently in the rope lines to cross into his Kingdom.

  Now, though, now Hades looked down upon a vast and unending column of dark marchers bursting into his City. The shadows were alive now; they were tall and dark and fierce, like creatures of night black flame moving inexorably through the Kingdom. And there were so many. They stretched on from the inside of the City through the plains back to the shore. The City’s iron gates lay twisted and useless on the ground.

  “Impossible,” he said. “How did they get over the river?”

  To Charlotte that didn’t seem the best question to ask at that moment. However they had gotten over the river, well, they had gotten over the river, and the point was pretty much moot. The Dead throughout the Kingdom had flown away from the wide path of the marchers and were cowering in the distance, so clustered together that they looked like great masses of light.

  “How did they take down the gates?” Hades asked.

  The marchers carried fire, they carried smoke, and they were working their way through the City toward the Palace. The Immortals, unprepared and untrained, were fleeing in droves. A few were fighting back—some threw small lightning bolts, some spit acid, some breathed fire or ice. But the shadows, they kept on marching. Smoke rose up in the City, stones tumbled everywhere.

  “Why is everyone running?” Hades asked.

  The shadows threw bits of themselves at buildings, the bits pierced the stone, and the stone burst into pieces. Sometimes the shadows walked right into buildings, seeping into the mortar, and the bricks tumbled down around them. Unharmed, they moved on.

  “How can they do that?” Hades asked.

  Harpies flew in and out of the chaos, cackling merrily, some throwing bits of building at the fleeing Immortals, some dive-bombing the crowd of shadows. The shadows threw their fire at the Harpies—a bit of shadow hit a Harpy and exploded her from the inside out—and, screeching, the rest flew away. Griffins soared in from the horizon, pecking and clasping, but to no effect. Their claws went right through the shadows.

  “How is that possible?” Hades asked.

  They moved so steadily, determinedly. They moved like fire, like wind, leaving ashes and rubble in their wake. And they were entering the Palace grounds. Crash! The iron gates went down, and the shadows began marching through the breech. They circled all the way around the grounds, turned to face the Palace, and stopped. The rest filed in, lining up beside them. Fifty thousand shadows stood in a perfect circle around the Palace, staring toward it, ready to attack.

  Charlotte desperately scanned the shadows, but nowhere did she see the thin, mortal form of her cousin.

  “Zee,” she whispered, “where are you?”

  His words rang in her head again. If I can—

  If I can—

  They were all on the grounds now, filling in around the Palace, a great moat of shadow. Charlotte expected them to throw their flames, their magic, but they were perfectly still. Waiting. But for what?

  “This is ridiculous,” Hades said. He picked up his scepter, muttered a few words, and aimed it down at a regiment of shadows.

  Charlotte gasped. “Wait!” she said, grabbing his robes.

  He looked down at her. “What?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, now…I’m not sure, you understand, because I’ve never done this to a shadow army before. It doesn’t work on everyone. But I believe I am going to shoot a ray of interminable fire at them out of my scepter. The fire, you might be interested to know, is blue.” He turned back and began to aim.

  “You can’t!” Charlotte jumped up and yanked on his scepter arm. “Those bel
ong to children. You’ll kill them!”

  Hades tilted his head. “And?”

  “They’re just kids !”

  He turned to Charlotte, smiled slightly, and patted her on the head. “Everybody dies eventually. Trust me.” He picked up the scepter again.

  “No! There’s got to be another way! Anyway, you can’t get them all at once, they’ll tear down the Palace! Look what they did to those buildings! Look, they’re just enchanted. If you can break the spell, if you can get Philonecron—”

  Hades said matter-of-factly, “Philonecron is not here. I banished him.” He looked over at Thanatos. “Right?”

  Thanatos nodded.

  “See?” He began to aim again.

  Just then the faceless butler appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, my Lord….” Charlotte thought he looked a little nervous. She didn’t blame him, she thought, checking on the army of shadows.

  Hades turned. “Yes?”

  “A Philonecron to see you, my Lord. He says it’s quite urgent.”

  “Impossible!”

  The butler paused, then bowed. “Nonetheless…”

  “Oh, show him in!”

  At least, Charlotte thought, hugging herself, with Philonecron in the Palace, the shadows probably wouldn’t burn it down. That was nice.

  Hades swept back into the throne room, Thanatos followed, and Charlotte crept in behind them. She did not exactly want to see Philonecron again—he was probably laboring under the impression that she was sleeping with the Styx fish—but she needed to find out about Zee. She hid herself behind one of the thrones.

  The butler went to the door, bowed, and opened it an inch. “Philonecron, my Lord. Assistant Manager of Sani—”

  But before he could finish his words, the door swung open, hitting the butler in the face. Hades muttered something to himself.

  Through the door marched two Footmen, carrying something carefully on their shoulders. They moved forward, revealing two other Footmen behind them. The four were carrying a great litter, like the kind in which they carry princesses in fairy tales, but inside was no princess.