Underworld

by Meg Cabot

  It was the opposite of what was waiting on the other side of his crypt.

  “Pierce,” he said, and tugged on my hand. “Let me see.”

  I surrendered. I had no idea how he could even locate the tiny pink scrape in the quickening darkness. The street lamps on either end of the alley had come on, but their glow didn’t reach to where we were standing.

  He found the wound, though, and passed his thumb lightly across it. A strange warmth filled me … not the uncomfortable, oppressive warmth from the pervasive humidity, but a tingling sensation that started in my hand, then slowly spread up my arm. The wound did not vanish, but it stopped hurting.

  “How did you do that?” I breathed, in wonder.

  “I keep telling you,” he said, lifting my hand and then pressing it to his lips. “The job comes with certain compensations.”

  The tingling increased … but only because his lips always had that effect on me.

  “John,” I said. My heart was pounding, but whether it was from his touch, an electrical charge from all the lightning that was churning in the clouds overhead, or the Spanish music, I didn’t know. It could have been my fear, which had kicked into a high setting from seeing my grandmother again. “What would happen if we ran away?”

  “Ran away?” he repeated with a soft laugh, lowering my hand and looking down at the blue veins that ran across the back. “And where, exactly, would we go?”

  “I don’t care,” I said recklessly. “Somewhere far away from here, where the Furies can’t find us. Why do we even have to go back? We can go anywhere. I have a ton of credit cards. They’re still good until my dad cuts them off. My parents think that’s what we’ve done anyway, so why not really do it?”

  He didn’t raise his gaze to meet mine, just continued to play with my hand, spreading my fingers out, seeming to compare their size against his, which were much larger.

  “Do you hate what I am that much?” he asked, in a voice that I noticed was merely curious, as if whatever I said in response, it didn’t much matter to him … which meant, I knew, that it did.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t hate it all. What you do is important, I understand that. I just don’t understand why you have to do it. It doesn’t seem fair. Why can’t Frank do it? Honestly, I think he’d enjoy it.”

  “You said you’d stay,” John reminded me. I noticed that as usual, he’d ignored my question about why he had to be the ruler of the Underworld of Isla Huesos.

  “I said I’d stay with you,” I pointed out.

  “What about Alex?” he asked.

  “He’ll be fine, too,” I said. “If he’s old enough to think he doesn’t have to come home when his father asks him to, isn’t he old enough to take care of himself?”

  “I don’t think you really believe that,” John said. His fingers folded over mine. “Any more than you believe in anything you’re suggesting. Do you?”

  “No,” I admitted softly. Still, wild desperation seized me. “But John, don’t you want to run away sometimes, forget all the things you have to do, and only do things you want for a change? And if we did, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides the pestilence Mr. Graves was talking about?” The idea of Isla Huesos swarming with walking dead didn’t bother me that much now that I knew my dad was on his way. He’d take care of my mom, and Alex and Uncle Chris, too … I didn’t care what happened to Grandma.

  I didn’t want to think about people who’d been kind to me since my arrival on Isla Huesos and probably didn’t deserve to be destroyed by pestilence, like Mr. Smith and my friend Kayla. I pushed thoughts of them out of my mind.

  John looked up from my hand, his eyes narrowing as he examined my face. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he said, pulling me in the direction from which the music was flowing. “Let’s go. There’s no reason we can’t look for your cousin and get you something to eat at the same time, if we hurry.”

  I was hungry, I realized. I was also feeling a little light-headed. Wait a minute …

  “You’re trying to change the subject,” I accused him.

  “I told you there were compensations for the job,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders, since I apparently wasn’t moving quickly enough for him. Soon my feet were practically flying across the pavement. “Well, there are punishments, too, for those who break the rules.”

  He’d spoken of punishments before. Of consequences.

  “But if we went somewhere the Furies couldn’t find us,” I persisted, “how could they punish us?”

  “Whenever someone leaves the Underworld who isn’t supposed to,” he said, “it leaves an imbalance in the realm. The Furies may not punish the person who left, but they’ll happily take out their wrath on those left behind.”

  Turning my head, I caught a glimpse of the hand he’d wrapped around my shoulder. There they were … the scars that had been inflicted because of what I’d done when I was fifteen. The consequences of my thoughtless action.

  Horrified, I stopped walking, just at the edge of the alley. The music was loud and festive, and I could see the bright lights and crowds of the street fair. I could even smell the dizzyingly intoxicating scent of grilled meat.

  None of that mattered anymore, however.

  “You mean they’d make poor Mr. Graves and Henry suffer for things we did?” I asked, my voice breaking.

  John had dropped his arm from around my shoulder. Now he stood looking down at me with an odd expression on his face … it seemed almost like pity.

  “Yes,” he said. “So the sooner we get back, the safer all of us will be.”

  Beginning to realize the enormity of the sacrifice he was making for Alex — and for me — I nodded, speeding up my pace … only to slow down again when I noticed the towering structure of the Isla Huesos lighthouse as soon as we left the shelter of the alley. Looming a hundred feet into the air, it was one of the tallest structures on the island … and one that I had refused to go inside when my mom had brought me for the requisite tour, remaining at the bottom to read instead all the plaques about the brave residents who, in the nineteenth century, risked their lives sailing out to save the stranded crews and cargoes of ships that wrecked while traveling through the shallow waters between Isla Huesos and the coral reef that surrounded it.

  Now the Isla Huesos lighthouse sat empty, decommissioned after the hurricane of October 1846 almost completely destroyed it, even rearranging the physical shape of the island, so that the lighthouse sat almost a half mile inland.

  That’s how someone was able to hang a sign from one side of the lighthouse, then string it all the way across the street along which Coffin Fest was being held. In bloodred letters, the sign read:

  Welcome to Coffin Fest!

  Brought to you by Captain Rob’s Rum

  Island of Bones Radio Station 95.5

  And Rector Realty

  Party ’til You’re Wrecked!

  John must have noticed my expression when I saw the sign, since he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just … at school, they held a special convocation to announce that Coffin Night was canceled.”

  Not only that, but Chief of Police Santos had put in an appearance to stress the seriousness of his department’s efforts to quell the community’s enthusiasm for the tradition, forbidding local hardware stores from selling large quantities of wood to minors to discourage bonfires and coffin-making.

  Yet here was a perfectly public event celebrating it — off school grounds, of course — with corporate sponsorship, no less.

  “The police do that every year,” John said. “It never works.”

  Apparently not. Underneath the sign streamed hordes of people, most of them dressed normally, but some wearing costumes, many of them pirates, others dressed as zombies or ghosts or undertakers or sexy skeletons. Almost all of them were carrying red plastic drink cups, despite the fact that there was a police cruiser parked next to the crosswalk. Two very bored-looking police
officers leaned against it, flirting with a couple of sexy girl pirates in tight bustiers and high heels.

  Everyone I saw was smiling, despite the thunder rumbling overhead, and the fact that already I had felt a few drops of light rain fall.

  I glanced back at John. Since I was pretty sure by now that he had died in a shipwreck, the event seemed … well, tasteless. Though of course the festival organizers hadn’t had any way of knowing that the reason for Coffin Night himself was going to show up.

  “It’s horrible,” I said to him emotionally, nodding at the sign. I found the fact that drops of fake blood were dripping from the letters particularly offensive. That was my boyfriend’s fake blood they were using to promote their businesses and products.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a crooked smile. “If there’s going to be a coffin hidden anywhere on Isla Huesos — outside the cemetery, of course — it’s kind of them to let us know this is the place.”

  I didn’t share his confidence. He hadn’t heard Seth Rector’s elaborate plans for how they were going to hide the coffin. The plans had referenced an airplane hangar. None of them had included Coffin Fest.

  “Well, I still think it’s horrible,” I said again. “And now not only does my grandmother know we’re here, so does the entire Fury population of the island, I’m sure. And we were both on the front page of the paper this morning. How are we going to walk in there without people recognizing us?”

  “Like this,” he said, his smile turning enigmatic, and took my hand.

  A second later, he was guiding me across the street, dodging laughing couples and some people dressed as vampires and even young parents pushing babies in strollers, until we were standing in front of a booth selling frozen fruit slices on a stick. We’d passed directly in front of the police officers, but they never looked away from the two girls in the pirate costumes.

  I glanced up at John in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

  “Sometimes people see only what they want to see,” he said, with a shrug.

  I realized this was coming from the phantom of the Isla Huesos Cemetery. Mr. Smith had told me sightings of John Hayden going in and out of his crypt were so common, and had been happening for so long, he’d developed a reputation … so much so that they’d never needed to install security cameras in the cemetery. No one ever ventured into the cemetery after dark, except for me and, unfortunately, Jade … and her killers.

  Still, just to be safe, I opened my bag, reaching inside for a hairband. I had my other dress to change into, if necessary. In the meantime, a quick braid and my jean jacket would have to do as a disguise.

  “It’s still hard to imagine,” I muttered as I braided, holding my hairband in my mouth, “what you ever did to create all this.” By all this I was referring to the craziness of the street fair, the loud music, and the people and the costumes.

  I never expected him actually to answer me, because I’d been asking the same question, in similar variations, for so long, and he’d never told me before.

  To my utter astonishment, this time he did, so swiftly and in such a low voice I might have missed it if he hadn’t been standing so close by.

  “I killed a man,” he said.

  My hairband fell to the sidewalk. I knew I would never find it again. Too many people were passing by, drinking from the red cups that they were buying from a Captain Rob’s Rum stand nearby.

  Of course I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. Why would he have told me something so important now, so casually, in the middle of a street fair?

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted out the first thing I thought.

  “Just one?”

  The look he gave me was shattering.

  Given everything I knew about him, though, I’d expected him to have killed a man.

  It was the fact that his having taken a single life had resulted in his banishment to the Underworld for all eternity that I found so astonishing.

  “I had no idea,” he said, with a dry smile, “that you were so bloodthirsty, Pierce. Should we try to find you one of those pirate costumes?”

  “It’s … it’s not that one man isn’t enough,” I stammered. I could hardly hear myself think with all the music. The Latin rhythms seemed to pulsate along with my heartbeat, which had quickened at the realization of my callous blunder. “It’s just that I’ve had to stop you from killing quite a few men before, in my presence. So I’m surprised —”

  He saw that I was being jostled by the crowd in the street, and taking my hand, drew me towards the sidewalk until we stood beneath the low-hanging branches of a gumbo-limbo tree, away from the masses and the lights, where it was a bit darker and quieter. Hope had followed us, of course, and she sat in the gutter, contentedly pecking at an abandoned grilled corn on the cob.

  “The man I killed was a ship captain,” John said. His voice had lost its hard edge, but his expression was remote, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “He was captain of the Liberty. I was his first mate.”

  This was a little bit of a shock, but I said nothing, keeping my gaze on an orange tabby cat that had slunk out from behind the fence in front of which we were standing. The cat’s eyes glowed as it caught sight of Hope … then it caught my warning gaze, and slunk quickly off.

  “We were sailing from Havana to Isla Huesos,” John went on. “From there we were to head back to England. Not far from Isla Huesos I discovered something … unsatisfactory with the course the captain had charted. I tried to discuss it with him privately, but he wouldn’t listen. Word about his plan got out, and some of the crew agreed with me. There was a mutiny. I’m sure you know what a mutiny is.”

  “Yes,” I said. I’d seen a movie about a mutiny once. The crew of the ship had ganged up on the captain and taken command away from him, because they hadn’t liked the harsh and unfair way he was running things.

  “Then you probably know that a mutiny is considered a serious offense,” John said. The festive music and screams of laughter in the background were at odds with the serious expression on his face. “On ships, when tried and found guilty, mutineers are dealt with swiftly … generally hanged, but sometimes set adrift.”

  Just like that, I was back on board the creaking deck of the ship from my dream, watching John being cast about on those massive waves, unable to do a thing to help him, as the rain poured down upon us both.

  My heart felt as if it were frozen inside my chest. My hands had gone suddenly cold as well, despite the warm temperature around us.

  “When the men approached the captain and said they disagreed with his plan, things turned ugly, especially when I took their side. The captain … well, he was furious. He was the one who struck the first blow, though, Pierce, you’ve got to believe me.” His gaze was pleading. “I never meant to kill him.”

  “Of course,” I murmured. “You were only protecting yourself.”

  His gaze grew bitter. “Well, not everyone saw it that way,” he said. “It turned out there were more men on board who supported the captain’s plan — dangerous as it was — than didn’t. I insisted that since I’d been the main instigator, I was the only one deserving of punishment —”

  “So they set you adrift,” I said, in a small voice, even though I already knew the answer.

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal. Except I’d seen for myself, in my dream, how terrifying it had been.

  “Mutineers — especially ones who murder their captain — don’t deserve a coffin, let alone a proper burial,” he said lightly. “But for some reason, people here on Isla Huesos seem to think that’s what I need in order to rest. So every year, this is what they do.” He raised a hand to indicate the festival.

  I gazed up at his face, longing to be able to provide some kind of balm to soothe the wounds I saw there. Not literal wounds, but emotional wounds, ones he tried hard to hide.

  “So you drowned to death,” I said softly. “Like me. That’s another thing we have in common, besides horribl
e family members.”

  His lips twitched. “Technically, you froze to death before you drowned,” he pointed out. “And don’t forget your head wound. But yes, we do have that in common.”

  I reached out to take his hand. It felt wonderfully warm and strong in mine.

  “And after you drowned, when you woke up?” I asked.

  “I was in the Underworld,” he said. “The one with which you’re familiar. Only I was alone. There was no manual, no guidebook telling me what to do. I had to learn it all by experience. Fortunately Mr. Graves, Mr. Liu, Frank, and Henry showed up a short time later. They’ve been a great help.”

  “They were part of the … mutiny?” I asked carefully.

  He nodded. “I wish to God they’d never gotten involved. But Henry overheard me trying to reason with the captain. He went running to Graves, and Graves enlisted Mr. Liu and Frank without my knowledge. So there was nothing to be done for it. They’re good men. They deserve a better fate than this.”

  Even as he spoke the words, I saw a cloud as dark as any of the ones in the sky overhead pass across his face. I thought I knew what was troubling him, and took his hand in both of mine.

  “The captain of the Liberty,” I said, thinking of what he’d said to my uncle about Bad People. “He must have been very bad.”

  “He was the worst person I have ever known,” he said, without the slightest hesitation in his voice. His gaze had grown cold as his tone … but I knew that had nothing to do with me. It was from the memory of the man he’d killed.

  Another chill swept over me.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “Because otherwise someone like Mr. Graves wouldn’t have committed a crime as bad as mutiny. And when you died, you would have ended up being sent by someone like yourself to a place like where the Furies go … which is why they come back, because they hate it there so much. But instead, you ended up ruler of an underworld. So someone must think that what you did was pretty brave, and wanted to reward you.”

  Slowly, I saw him come back to me from whatever dark place he’d been.