The Shadow Thieves

  “Shadows,” she heard him cry, “what are you doing? Don’t stop! Keep going!” The shadows all twitched and rumbled, looking from one master to the other. Some picked up their weapons again uncertainly.

  Philonecron looked around frantically, yelping as he saw Charlotte over the wreckage of the Palace. “You!” he screamed. “You worthless child! You can’t command the shadows!” He paused and raised up his hands. “Shadows, get her!”

  The squadron of shadows closest to Philonecron began to move—they rushed around their comrades, moving like raging fire. A flood of darkness swarmed toward her, a giant black wave coming to drown her, a great rush of spirits shooting through the air right toward her soul—and Charlotte froze with horror.

  “Get her! Kill her!” Philonecron pointed at Charlotte and spit, “How dare you? How dare you try to command them? You’re not Zero!”

  And then a voice rang out, “No, but I am.”

  Zee?

  Charlotte whirled toward the voice. And there he was, Zee, shirtless and with a bandaged arm, standing on top of one of the fallen domes, shouting through some kind of animal horn.

  “Shadows! Stop! Stop at once!”

  And just like that, the flood of shadows froze. “All of you, stop! Put your weapons down!”

  Charlotte felt tears pouring down her cheeks as her cousin’s voice moved over the whole Palace grounds. “Come to me!”

  “Go to Zee!” Charlotte shouted. “Put down your weapons and go!”

  A piercing scream hit the air—the shadows trembled, the ground shook, and Charlotte spun around.

  “No!” Philonecron yelled.

  Zee didn’t move. “Put down your weapons,” he bellowed. “Come to me!”

  “Go to Zee!” Charlotte yelled joyfully. “Go to your master!”

  On top of his litter Philonecron was the very picture of horror. His hands clasped tight to his face, his mouth frozen in a scream, his red eyes popping out of his head. The four Footmen were watching him warily.

  “Zero!” Philonecron shouted. “Zero, my boy! What are you doing ?”

  But Zee did not turn. He was magnificent. He was regal. He was a force. He kept shouting commands to the shadows, who were lining up in front of him obediently, like good little soldiers. Philonecron screeched again and yelled down to his Footmen, “Take me to him! Hurry! Zero, stop!”

  But whatever control Philonecron had over Zee wasn’t working from that distance, and Charlotte wasn’t going to let him get much closer, if she could help it. She broke into a run, heading for Philonecron, heading for her cousin. Philonecron, wobbling as he was moved, was yelling, “Why are you doing this? Zero, why are you betraying me?”

  “Go back to the Outer Banks!” Zee shouted to the army of shadows. “Go back home! Wait for me there! Wait for my commands!”

  And, as one, the legions of shadows turned and began to march through the rubble, through the gates, back into the remnants of the City.

  “Noooo!” yelled Philonecron to the marchers. “Come back! Come back! I am your master! Not him! Come back! We’re so close!”

  But the shadows paid him no mind; their true master had spoken. They were marching back home.

  Charlotte cut around the great column of marchers, past the rubble of the Palace—which, by the way, seemed to be moving, as if something was digging itself out from the inside—and crept toward the duo.

  For the Footmen had reached Zee and were carefully lowering the litter down while Philonecron stood balancing himself on the chair and shouted instructions. “Hurry up!” he yelled. “Steady, now! Don’t drop me! Watch the feet !” Zee was standing his ground on top of the dome, staring down Philonecron.

  Charlotte was close to them now, but Philonecron had not noticed her; his whole world was Zee. She crept through the rubble behind the Footmen, behind Philonecron and his litter. Zee saw her and winked—and at that moment she thought a wink was the best way ever to say hello.

  As for Philonecron, he looked as if he very much wanted to get up off his perch, despite the whole banishment thing. He stared at Zee, shaking his head, his mouth opening and closing.

  “You…you betrayed me,” he emoted. “After all I did for you!” He paused dramatically, and a great tear ran down his cheek. “You were nothing, nothing, before me. I made you great. I made you the father of an army. You were my Zero!”

  Zee was not moved. He picked up his horn, aimed it in Philonecron’s face, and, articulating every word very carefully, shouted, “Stop. Calling. Me. Zero!”

  Charlotte could not help but think that Zee had found the perfect thing to say.

  Wincing, Philonecron closed his eyes until Zee had finished. Then he drew himself up, twisting with rage. “I made you, and I can break you, my boy. Don’t forget, I know everything about you. I know what makes your blood crawl.” He leaned forward as best he could on his perch in the chair, lifted up a hand, and whispered, “Zero. Come to me. Come….”

  And as Charlotte watched helplessly, Zee’s arm fell and his eyes lost their focus. Philonecron’s voice sounded so familiar, so beautiful, and part of Charlotte wanted just to close her eyes and do whatever he said….

  But just part. The Mielswetzski part roared inside of her, and she shook herself. Come on, Zee. We’re so close now. She willed her cousin’s attention to her. Come on, Zee; focus on me. She waved her arms in the air. Look at this, Zee, she willed him. Not at him.

  But Zee’s gaze did not waver. “Come to me, my boy,” Philonecron hissed, “and I will rip out your thro—”

  Just then a crashing sound came from the remnants of the Palace, and Zee, Charlotte, and Philonecron turned to look. A long, black-cloaked arm emerged from under a rock. The rock began to shift back and forth, back and forth, and finally it rolled off. A shoulder came out. And then a head. Which was wearing a perfectly intact, simple black crown.

  Philonecron let out a roar of rage. “Get him!” he shouted to the Footmen, pointing at Hades, who was casually crawling out of the pieces of marble. The Footmen exchanged glances, then took a step toward the Lord of the Dead.

  Philonecron turned back to Zee. “Look at me!” he whispered. “Look!” He raised his hands to Zee’s eye level. “Come on, my boy. That’s right.” Zee seemed to slump a little bit. Charlotte fought hard against Philonecron’s voice in her head; she had to now, it was all up to her. Otherwise he could kill them both, get the shadows back, and it would all be over.

  “That’s right, you worthless thing. Come to me, and I will rip out your throat. I will feed you to the Harpies. Finally you’ll be of some use in your worthless little life—”

  Charlotte ran at Philonecron, not knowing what she was going to do, knowing she had to do something. “Leave him alone!” she shouted. Philonecron whirled around on his litter and glared at her, and suddenly Charlotte had an idea. She wasn’t positive, but it seemed like a rather good one. In the space of a breath Charlotte reached down, picked up the largest rock she could find, held it above her head, and crashed it down as hard as she could on the chair under his feet.

  A great crack splintered through the air—Philonecron’s mouth opened, his eyes bugged, and the chair broke into pieces underneath him. Philonecron went tumbling backward, his bottom hitting the ground, followed by his hands, followed by his feet.

  A hissing noise emanated from the ground. Philonecron yelled and pushed himself up in the air, ready to dive back onto the litter, but he was too late. His feet started smoking, then they burst into a bloodred flame. The fire traveled up to his legs, and, screaming, he propelled himself onto the litter—leaving a pile of ash where his legs had once been.

  Suddenly, from behind them, Zee and Charlotte heard a sizzling noise and then saw a great blue light. They turned—Hades, a little dusty but looking no worse for wear, was standing on top of the rubble, pointing his scepter at four bursts of blue fire. The flames grew into the air and then quickly extinguished.

  On the ground were four piles of debris consisting
of cracked clay and bits of fabric, drizzled with puddles of thick brown blood. The Footmen were gone. And then slowly, quietly, the debris shifted a little, and the four Unburied from whom the Footmen had been made emerged mistily from the rubble. They looked around at the scene before them, brushed themselves off, and floated into the night.

  Hades turned and strode up to Philonecron, who was writhing, legless, on his litter. He grinned, flipped his scepter, and proclaimed cheerfully, “Works on clay!”

  CHAPTER 27

  Daylight

  THE LORD OF THE DEAD STOOD TOWERING OVER THE prone form of Philonecron, who was twisting in agony on his litter. Charlotte and Zee—who were covered in grime and smoke and dust and blood, who were panting and sweating and trembling, who were exhausted and exhilarated—stood in the background, shoulder to shoulder, and watched Hades savor the moment.

  “Stop whining,” Hades spit. “Your legs will regenerate.”

  “That’s right, they will!” Philonecron looked up threateningly and raised his fist in the air. It really wasn’t very intimidating. “I’ll have my legs. I still have my Footmen. They will serve me until the end. There are seven Footmen—”

  “Five, actually,” Zee muttered.

  Charlotte shot him an impressed look. Zee shrugged modestly.

  “Ah, but Philonecron,” Hades interjected, “this is the end. I will find your Footmen, do not worry about that.” He flipped his scepter again. “And as for you…” He snapped his fingers in the air, and two Griffins came soaring in from the horizon. (Fat lot of help they were, Charlotte thought.) Hades beckoned them to him. “Now,” he continued, pacing back and forth in front of the litter, “whatever shall we do with you? I banished you once to the Outer Banks, but that was clearly too good for you. Hmmm. I think I have an idea. Philonecron, Assistant Manager of Sanitation, I banish you to the Upperworld—”

  “No,” Philonecron shrieked. “No! I’ll never survive.”

  “That is not my concern.”

  “I can’t breathe up there,” Philonecron protested. “And everyone wears polyester!”

  Charlotte and Zee exchanged a look. They weren’t ecstatic about the idea of Philonecron in the Upperworld. But Hades didn’t seem to notice.

  Hades continued, “You are banished to the Upperworld, Philonecron. You may never set f—you may never enter the Underworld again. Griffins?” He held his hand up. “Take him away.”

  With that, the two Griffins swooped down, claws at the ready, grasped Philonecron—one by the neck and one by the bottom—and proceeded to fly away. The air reverberated with Philonecron’s cries. “Nooooo!” Charlotte and Zee heard. And then, just as the trio was fading off in the distance, a cry shot out, “Zerrrrooooo!”

  Hades, looking extremely pleased with himself, turned his attention to the cousins.

  “That should take care of him,” he said. He nodded at Charlotte. “That was very impressive, with the chair. You are quite resourceful.”

  Charlotte blushed. Hades might be creepy, but he was a Greek god, and they probably didn’t give compliments lightly.

  “And,” he said, turning to Zee, “Zachary John Miller, your timing is excellent, as was your leadership.”

  Zee muttered to Charlotte, “How does he know my name?”

  “Don’t ask,” Charlotte whispered back.

  “Now, I thank you both for what you have done for my Kingdom.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, round red object, which he offered to them. “Pomegranate?”

  Quickly Charlotte and Zee shook their heads.

  “Worth a try. Well, you will find the door open for you on the way out. I shall see you again.”

  At this Charlotte and Zee shuddered, and before they could say anything else, the Lord of the Dead turned and walked away, calling, “Has anyone seen my wife?”

  The cousins stood among the ruins of the Palace of Hades. More Griffins began to sweep through the air, and the Immortal residents of the Palace were beginning to emerge from the distance. Charlotte looked at Zee, and Zee looked at Charlotte.

  “Let’s go home,” Charlotte said quietly. “Let’s go home.”

  There were so many questions to ask, so much to discuss. Worlds had moved since Charlotte and Zee had last seen each other. They’d enchanted shadows, met the Lord of the Dead, seen a Palace fall, escaped from Footmen (twice), led an army, outwitted an evil genius, saved the world, saved each other. They should have been chattering away, their voices should have overlapped each other as they tried to tell their stories, their exuberance should have carried them up into the skies. But as they walked back through the Underworld, Charlotte and Zee were strangely quiet.

  Behind them Immortals were filing (and slithering) back into the City, putting out fires, climbing around rubble, cleaning up. And in front of them—really, everywhere around them—the Dead were beginning to fill in the landscape again, and soon the air was crowded with them. Eerie and beautiful, silent and cramped, nervous and bored, the Dead reemerged to take their places in their perpetual sea of rocky dullness.

  Charlotte whispered, “It’s hard to feel really good about helping Hades, you know?”

  Zee nodded as if he had been thinking the same thing. “I guess we helped them, though. Out here is a lot better than in there.” He gestured toward the steaming structure on the horizon.

  Charlotte started chewing on her lip. “I know, but…I thought maybe he’d ask us, you know, if there was something he could do for us. And we could, like, tell him to build a city for the Dead. Or something. And he would have been like, ‘Okay.’ And it all would have been better. We could have helped them all.”

  Zee nodded slowly.

  “But he didn’t ask,” Charlotte continued. “He didn’t. And I didn’t say anything. We had him right there, and I didn’t say anything.”

  Zee turned to her and put his hand on her arm. “He wouldn’t have listened anyway, Charlotte. You know that.”

  The Dead, drawn to these two walking memories of Life, crowded, clamored, and clustered, but just as Charlotte began to wonder how they would get through, the great crowd in front of them split in two, marking a path for the cousins to walk.

  The cousins stopped short.

  “Oh,” said Charlotte.

  “Oh,” said Zee.

  They could see their path all the way to the Styx, but on either side of the path stood countless bodies of light, all stopped to watch them pass, an ethereal, glowing honor guard making way.

  Eyes filling, they grabbed hands and began to walk on, through the watchful Dead.

  “You know,” Zee said, smiling a little, “there aren’t any Dead on the Outer Banks anymore. The shadows built a bridge over the Styx to get across, and all of the Dead just poured over the bridge. All of them!”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Charon’s going to be real pleased about that!” Charlotte said.

  Zee grinned. “When he wakes up. One of the Footmen clunked him on the head.”

  “Oh!” Charlotte thought that sounded like a good idea. She should have tried it herself instead of giving up a month’s allowance and her Fruit Roll-Ups. “Hey, is that how you got across? The bridge?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t bother to take it down. Mr. Metos said—”

  Charlotte stopped. “Mr. Metos!” Blushing, she realized she’d forgotten all about him.

  “He’s okay,” Zee said. “We got him down. He’s in a bad way, but he’s resting, and—”

  “We?”

  Zee smiled. “Philonecron left a few shadows behind. And you’ll never guess who showed me where they were.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Who?”

  “Mew.”

  “What?”

  And then they began to tell their stories. Zee told Charlotte about enchanting the shadows, about the vast army he created, about Philonecron putting him to rest in his cave, about the two Footmen standing guard, about his surprise visitor, about the secret lab and the d
iscarded shadows, about the Footmen’s violent end, about getting down Mr. Metos, about running as fast as he could all the way to the Palace, about feeling Philonecron’s voice inside his head, about losing his will, and about hearing his cousin’s voice, clear as day, yelling to save him, and finally believing they might get through this.

  And Charlotte told Zee about fighting the Footman, about pushing him in the Styx, about Charon and Cerberus, about the vampire demon and the park, about the City and the Palace, about trying to convince Hades to act, about dodging blasts of fire, about Philonecron and his litter, about the shadows coming and the fires starting, about her accidental discovery, about commanding the shadows, about their swarming toward her, and about hearing her cousin’s voice, clear as day, and finally believing they might get through this.

  “You were pretty great, you know,” Charlotte said. “With the shadows. You say you don’t like to talk, but…”

  “I wouldn’t have been in time if it hadn’t been for you commanding them,” he said. “And with the chair. That was pretty great. I would have been a goner.”

  They were chattering now, voices and hearts light, the world seeming like a great, bright place where two cousins could work together to save it—even in that dark home of the Dead. They crossed the great expanse of the Plains, reached the bridge made of bone, and began to cross.

  Suddenly, in the middle of the bridge, Charlotte stopped and turned around. Zee followed suit. Legions of Dead were behind them, watching and waiting, but for what? The cousins stared helplessly. For moments they stared at each other, the Living and the Dead, unable to move.

  “Zee…,” Charlotte said. “Your grandmother…we never…”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “When I was in the cave, well, I thought…I knew…” He trailed off, touching his chest, smiling a secret smile, the smile of someone who knew he was being watched over. Zee squeezed Charlotte’s hand, and they turned their backs on the Dead and made their way to the Outer Banks.