by Mari Mancusi
Prim shakes his head. “Sorry, but this is kind of a one-way thing,” he explains. “You’re going to have to wait with the others.”
I stare at him, then at the refugees at the shore. “I’m not waiting for a hundred years!”
“I don’t actually think you have much of a choice in the matter,” he replies, not sounding as sympathetic as he should, seeing as this whole thing is really his fault. “Anyway, sorry it didn’t work out. I did try.” He starts walking back down the dock.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He looks back, surprised. “Home, of course. You think I’d wait here for a hundred years? Who would feed my cat?” He turns to Race. “I’ll check on that curling iron thing for you, too,” he adds, before continuing on his way.
Oh my God. I want to smack him so hard. “So you’re just going to leave us? That is so unfair.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to Hell,” he replies, before waving his hands and vaporizing into thin air.
Race scowls. “I hate it when he does that.”
I stare at the empty space that moments before held the Prim Reaper—our only guide to this crazy place. Did he really just poof himself away? Leave us here all by ourselves on the banks of Hades for the next hundred years?
I slowly turn to the two vampires, terror washing over me. “What are we going to do now?”
19
Reluctantly, we head back down the dock, toward the shore, where the masses are watching us with intent scrutiny. There’s quite a motley crew here—vampires, fairies, werewolves, mermaids (who, hello!, you’d think could swim across the river instead of waiting for a ferry ride!), dragonkin, nymphs, and even a few bogeymen. A practical who’s-who guide to the supernatural. And while most of them still seem pretty well put together body-wise (considering they were most likely killed in a pretty extreme fashion and should, for all intents and purposes, look like the waiting room in Beetlejuice) they all have that strange purple translucency that makes us stick out like sore thumbs.
“Do you mind?” I ask, kicking a leprechaun who’s currently sniffing my leg. Beside me, Race shoves away a curious Puca who’s shape-shifted into a giant rabbit while Jareth stares down a particularly ugly troll.
“Leave her alone, Iggy!”
I startle as a strangely familiar female voice cuts through the dead chatter. I look through the crowd, my eyes widening as I see a girl, dressed all in black, pushing through the masses to reach us. When she does, she throws her arms around me and gives me a huge hug.
“Rachel!” I cry in surprise, as the vampire pulls away, giving me a big fanged grin. “Oh my God. Is that really you?”
I stare at her in disbelief. It seems like only yesterday the poor vampire sacrificed her life at Riverdale Academy so Corbin and I could make our escape. Of course, had I known what Corbin would choose to do with his second chance at life, I probably would have tried to save Rachel instead.
“Rayne! It’s so good to see you!” she says, hugging me again. “Come on over here. I want to hear everything.” She leads me over to a small makeshift fire pit at the center of the encampment. Race and Jareth follow some bit behind, still being tormented by the eager dead, a few of them, it turns out, big fans of the rock star. “Why are you here?” she asks as we sit down on a couple of large stones. “You’re not dead, are you? I mean, you don’t look dead. You look great, in fact. Really great.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And, uh, yeah, I’m still technically alive. Or undead. Or whatever. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my sister.” I give her the short version of the story. “So we came down here to talk to Hades about getting her released.” I take a quick glance around camp, cataloging each face. “I don’t suppose she’s here, is she?” I ask hopefully. Maybe she didn’t have ferry fare either…
“She was,” Rachel confirms. “I saw her a couple days ago when she first arrived. But lucky for her, she had exact change to cross the river, so she got to jump ahead in line.”
Of course. Leave it to my former Girl Scout twin to be prepared… even down here.
“How did she look?” I ask eagerly as Jareth manages to shake off a banshee to sit down beside me. “Was she sad? Scared? Did she say anything about me?” I really, really hope she isn’t blaming me for her death…
Rachel purses her lips, thinking back. “She seemed okay,” she says at last. “I mean, a little shell-shocked, like most people are when they first arrive. And she was super worried about Magnus. Wouldn’t stop asking people if they’d seen him. She looked pretty relieved when no one had.”
“Yeah, he’s not dead,” I reply. “At least not yet.”
From beside me, Jareth grunts, and I suddenly realize I’ve said the wrong thing. Before I can clarify, the vampire rises from his seat and walks away from the fire pit, staring intently at one of the nearby rock structures. Ugh. When I am going to learn to keep my big mouth shut?
“Wow, was that Jareth?” Rachel asks, watching him go. “He’s here to help Sunny, too?”
I nod. “Unfortunately, he seems to think he’s responsible for this whole mess,” I reluctantly explain. “That if it wasn’t for him, my sister would still be alive.”
“Well, if it makes him feel any better, I’m pretty sure Sunny wasn’t holding any grudges,” Rachel replies. “In fact, she was pretty cool about the whole thing, all things considered. I think she was mostly looking forward to seeing your dad.”
If I had a beating heart, it would surely skip a beat right about now. I hadn’t even considered the fact that my dad would be down here, too. Would I be able to track him down if we were able to get beyond the river?
“So you’ve been here all this time?” I ask, looking around the decrepit refugee camp. To be honest, it doesn’t look much better than the camp below the streets of New York City. A few patchwork tents, some refrigerator box shacks. Certainly nowhere I’d want to spend the night, never mind a hundred years.
Rachel nods. “It’s really not too bad though,” she says. “There are plenty of cool people to hang out with. And let’s face it, not everyone’s excited to face that final judgment across the river. In fact, some of us might be better off spending the next hundred years here, compared to what we’ll likely get assigned to for eternity. We even have free Wi-Fi now, ever since one of the vampire executives at AT&T Wireless got staked by a slayer who was angry about that whole crappy 3G network thing.”
“But, Rachel, we can’t stay here a hundred years,” I tell her. Even if the idea of free Wi-Fi does make it a bit more palatable. “We’ve got to get across somehow and find Sunny.”
“Right.” Rachel considers this. “Well,” she says, “he’d probably never admit it, but I’ve heard there have been times when Charon has made an exception to the exact change rule. You might want to ask our eldest member, Torrid. He’s been down here the longest. Ninety-nine years, eleven months, seven days. He gets his free ride in just over three weeks. Lucky stiff.” She shakes her head. “He’s seen just about everything. If anyone were to know of a way to get across, he would.”
Half of me wants to mention that if Mr. Torrid really did have a way to get across, perhaps he would have seen fit to use it in the last ninety-nine years. But hey, who knows, maybe he really likes having free Wi-Fi.
“Where is he?”
Rachel points to a small hut at the very edge of the riverbank. It’s nicer than all the others, with real glass windows and an actual door. “As the oldest here, he scores the best digs,” she explains.
“Great.” I thank her and scramble to my feet, gesturing for Race, who’s currently surrounded by purple glowing groupies, to follow me. Together we walk over to where Jareth is pretending with great interest to study a very uninteresting rock. I give them the lowdown on Torrid that I learned from Rachel. “If anyone knows how to get past Charon, he will,” I finish.
“Well, I’m ready to try anything at this point,” Race says. “Before the groupies tear me apart.”
“
I continue to be in awe of the rough life you live,” Jareth mutters.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m all about winning!” Race protests, in his best Charlie Sheen.
“Come on, boys!” I interrupt. “Let’s go talk to Torrid.”
Somehow I manage to corral them and the three of us head over to the small hut to knock on the front door. At first there’s no answer and I wonder, for a second, if Torrid is off doing errands. Then I remember it’s past one a.m. on the shores of the River Styx. I’m guessing he’s not likely picking up his dry cleaning.
So I knock again, this time a little louder. Finally a deep voice emerges from behind the door. “I guess you’re not going to go away if I simply ignore you.”
“Please, Mr. Torrid!” I beg. “We really need to talk to you!”
Silence and then… “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
I push open the door and step inside the hut. It’s much larger than it appears to be on the outside and actually pretty posh, considering we’re in Hades and all, with beautifully woven Persian rugs on the floor, authentic-looking Ming vases displayed on marble pedestals, and brightly colored tapestries draping the walls. I wonder how he imports all his stuff down here.
A boy, who appears to be about fourteen years old, is sitting with his back to us, at a computer desk, eyes glued to his laptop. My ears pick up the familiar sounds of World of Warcraft coming from the speakers. “Sorry,” he says, not turning around. “We’re in the middle of taking down Fandral Staghelm. State your business please.”
“Wow, you get video games down here, too? Sweet.” Maybe this one hundred years thing isn’t such a bad gig after all. No job, no homework, never-ending gaming sessions?
“Of course,” he replies. “While Charon doesn’t take credit cards, Amazon.com does. And now that I’ve signed up for their Prime membership, I can get everything shipped down here for free.”
I glance over at Race and Jareth, shaking my head in disbelief. Will the wonders of Hell ever cease? “So um, anyway, we were wondering if you could help us out. We need to cross the river.”
“So does everyone else. I suggest you get in line. Don’t worry. The hundred years passes pretty quickly down here,” he says as his troll mage lets loose a rainstorm of frostfire down on his enemy. I have to admit, he’s pretty good. I wonder what server he plays on.
“Yeah. I’m sure it flies by. But you see, we’re not dead. We came down here to talk to Hades about my sister. We need to get her out of here before she’s processed into the system. A hundred years from now will be too late.”
Torrid doesn’t reply, back to his game. I don’t try to press him—after all, I know how annoying it can be to be interrupted during a boss fight. In any case, it doesn’t take long for the big fiery dude they’re all fighting to take a major swipe at the main tank, knocking him to the ground, dead.
“Nooooo!” Torrid screams at the screen. “You noobs!”
The beast turns on the rest of the group—including Torrid’s troll—engulfing them in flames. One by one they fall.
Game over.
Torrid swears, then spins in his chair to face us. It’s then that I realize, for the first time, that he’s actually a troll in real life, too, complete with horns sticking out of the sides of his cheeks. It’s a little unnerving to say the least.
“So what do you want from me?” he asks.
I draw in a breath. Here goes nothing. “I was told that there have been times when Charon has made exceptions to the exact change rule. I was wondering if you knew what those were.”
Torrid nods. “It has been done,” he says. “But it’s very rare.” He gives us a skeptical once-over. “I’m not sure any of you would have what it takes to get him to agree.”
I feel my hackles rising. Who does this troll think he is? “Try us.”
“Well, the first person to do it was Hercules, son of Zeus,” Torrid explains. “It’s said he beat Charon in a test of strength, overpowering him and stealing his oar. Of course, these days the ferryman uses a motorboat, so that won’t help you much. And he keeps the key on his person always. So you’d pretty much have to take him down to get it.”
“Right,” I say, glancing out one of the windows, watching the ferryman busy himself with closing up shop for the night. He doesn’t look that tough. Pretty skinny, actually. Maybe if all three of us got the jump on him…
“Don’t even think about it.” Torrid snorts. “I’ve met Hercules. And you, my dear, are no Hercules.”
Sigh. I suppose he’s right. I turn back from the window. “What else?”
“Well, there was a Trojan hero known as Aeneas,” he continues. “They say he was the son of Aphrodite. He was able to bribe Charon with a golden bough—which is basically like the Willie Wonka golden ticket down here in the Underworld.” He smirks. “I don’t suppose you have anything like that on you, do you? Maybe a Chia Pet, perhaps? The ferryman’s pretty fond of foliage…”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Of course we don’t,” I say. “Come on, there must be something else. Something that doesn’t require god-like strength or landscaping expertise.”
Torrid thinks for a moment. “There was this one other time,” he says at last. “When Orpheus came down to Hades to rescue his wife, Eurydice. He brought his lyre with him and with his music he was able to charm Charon into giving him passage across. As they say, music soothes the savage beast.”
Huh. I consider this. “Well, I don’t play any instruments, but I suppose I could sing,” I suggest, launching into a rousing rendition of My Chemical Romance’s “Welcome to the Black Parade.”
Torrid and Jareth cringe and block their ears. Race puts a hand over my mouth. “We want to charm him, luv,” he reminds me. “Not cause permanent hearing loss.”
“Fine,” I growl, offended by their obviously over-exaggerated reactions to my tuneage. “Well, then what about you, Mr. Rock Star? You think you could make yourself useful? Charm the socks off the ferryman?”
Race grins. “Now you’re talking. Of course it’d have to be a capella. I didn’t think to bring my guitar with me. And I have no idea what a lyre is.”
“You might want to hit up some of the others,” Torrid suggests. “A lot of people on the banks here are dead musicians who were buried with their instruments.” He shrugs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my game. I only have three weeks left to level cap, before I’m forced to head across the river and face eternal damnation. I need to get moving.” He grabs his mouse. “You can see yourselves out. Good luck.”
Summarily dismissed, Race, Jareth, and I head out of the cabin, closing the door behind us. Race turns to me, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Honey, we’re getting the band back together!”
20
By about three in the morning, Race has somehow managed to recruit a heavy-metal guitar-playing ogre, an Elvin harpist, an imp drummer, and a fairy who must have died circa 1983, judging from his Casio synthesizer. The makeshift band has gathered around the fire and is currently arguing over what kind of tune will best charm the ferryman. There seems to be some debate on whether he digs Goth, classical, or Osborne Family Christmas carols. And unfortunately, everyone seems to be trying to play their best guess all at the same time.
I try to stay out of the way, sitting down by the water, as far from the so-called “music” streaming from their instruments as possible. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure there are ninety-nine-year-old deaf women in Siberia blocking their ears right about now, moaning in pain, and I’m getting worried on whether this plan will actually work.
A shadow crosses over me and a moment later Jareth sits down beside me in the sand. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything this terrible,” he exclaims.
“Me neither,” I agree. “And I’ve sat through an entire John Mayer concert with Sunny.” I grab a handful of crimson-colored sand, running it through my fingers. “I don’t understand it. Race is an internationally known rock sta
r. And yet he’s as bad as the rest.”
“Yeah, but remember, there’s no Auto-Tune down in Hades.”
“Good point.” I frown. “At this rate, it’s going to take them a hundred years to get good enough to play.”
Jareth gives me a rueful look and the two of us fall silent. But somehow the silence is comforting rather than awkward. And even the terrible music currently sound tracking the scene can’t put a damper on the fact that the vampire has chosen to come sit next to me of his own free will. I steal a glance at him, wanting to say so much, but at the same time I don’t want to push him away again. I realize this is a big step for him, and I don’t want him to regret making it.
“Remember that first night we sat on the beach?” I dare to ask at last, keeping my eyes glued to the water ahead of me. “Right after we staked the vampire Maverick during my first slayer mission?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his slow nod. “You were poisoned by the blood virus,” he remembers. “You told me you’d be dead in a few days.”
“I know. I was pretty freaked out. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, had I known about the free Wi-Fi…” I can’t help but joke.
Jareth doesn’t laugh. “I remember thinking… I barely know this girl,” he continues instead in a dead-serious voice. “How can I already love her so much?” He shakes his head. “It scared me to death, to tell you the truth.”
I swallow hard, thinking back to that fateful night. I’d finally met the one guy I could allow myself to love. The one who understood the walls of protection I’d built around myself for all those years, afraid to let anyone see the real weak and powerless me. I knew Jareth had the power to help me tear down those walls once and for all. To love the real me, despite her flaws.
And now that I’d done it, now that I had finally embraced Rayne McDonald, warts and all, the vampire who’d helped me get there no longer wanted to be a part of my life.