Charlotte had insisted on leaving her bedroom door ajar ever since she found Mew; it had been quite a change for her, as she had strictly been a sleep-with the-door-closed kind of girl. But it was an adjustment she was happy to make, and it didn't take too much time to train her parents -who were also suddenly sleeping with their door ajar. And as she left, Mrs. Mielswetzski obediently left the door open a crack, and Charlotte was glad because if someone was coming to take her, she would at least hear them coming…
Suddenly there was a loud crash downstairs. Charlotte jumped. Then she heard Mew let out a Mew yowl. Okay, she told herself. Just the cat. Must have knocked something over. A vase. Or something. Nothing to be afraid of.
Charlotte shivered in her bed. No, no, she could not read after all-all she could do was lie there thinking about all the things that might be coming and what they might sound like, and unfortunately, after an hour or so of this she did accidentally fall asleep. She fell asleep soundly this time, so soundly that when the footsteps came, she did not hear them. But anyway, the footsteps were not coming toward her, but rather heading through the hallway, down the stairs, through the front hall, and outside the door.
When she woke up, it was 2 A.M. and there was a cat standing on her face. The cat was looking in her eyes and yowling.
"Cat!" Charlotte said dumbly.
"Yowl," said the cat.
She willed herself to wake up. "What is it?"
"Yowl," said the cat.
Bartholomew started running to Charlotte's door and back to Charlotte. Charlotte got the point pretty quickly. She got up sleepily and followed Mew into the hallway.
Mew ran up to Zee's room. Charlotte followed. The door was wide open and the bed was empty. Charlotte gasped. Mew began to run back and forth up and down the stairs, then to the front door.
Charlotte looked at the cat, then at the door. She felt a lump in her throat. "We made a deal," she protested. "He wasn't going to go out. He was going to wait for two days. For Mr. Metos."
"Yowl," said the cat.
"Why did he go out? Did he go to find the Footmen? They'll take him! Why did he go out?"
"Yowl," said the cat.
"What should I do? Should I wake Mom and Dad? What should I do?"
"Yowl," said the cat.
"They won't believe me. And even if they did…" Charlotte shuddered. The Footmen took children's shadows. No one had mentioned what they would do to adults. She looked at Mew and gulped.
"I have to go out there, don't I? I have to find him. By myself."
Mew cocked her head.
"Not by myself?"
"Yowl," said the cat.
Charlotte felt tears in her eyes. She inhaled deeply. "Okay," she nodded. "Let's go."
Her cousin was in trouble and she was going to save him. She could do this. She could be brave. She could be the heroine. She could also be kidnapped by shadow-stealing goons and forced into the Underworld, but that's okay. Charlotte slipped on her sneakers, then opened the front door and, heart in her throat, gazed out into the cold, black night. There was nothing to see-just sleeping houses and dim streetlamps and empty streets. And darkness. And whatever lurked behind the darkness. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the night.
The wind blew past her, and her pink flannel pajamas seemed to quaver in its mighty presence. Charlotte hugged herself. She looked back toward the front door, behind which was her very thick, warm, cozy winter coat, and sighed. There was no time. She had to get to Zee before…
"Where to?" she asked Mew.
Mew stood on the front step, nose sniffing, ears rotating like satellite dishes. Charlotte did not let herself wonder where Zee had gone or whom/what he had found, because then she would not be able to leave that spot. Courage, she decided, depended quite a bit on a failure of imagination.
And then, suddenly, Mew sprang into the night. Charlotte took off after her. Across the street the cat ran, into the neighbors' yard, through the fence, behind the garage, out into the alley, and then through another yard, and Charlotte followed, the whole way, ripping her pajamas on a bush. They emerged at the other side of the block, then went rushing down the street. The wind seemed to freeze Charlotte's cheeks, her breath chilled against her mouth, but all she concentrated on was the gray and white kitten who charged on ahead of her and who, occasionally, would stop and wait until Charlotte was in sight, before tearing off again.
And then, four blocks from her house, she saw her cousin. He was a block ahead of them, dressed only in his pajamas, barefoot, and walking as if he were taking a nice evening stroll. Relief sprang up in Charlotte, along with a sudden urge to throttle him. But there was no time; the Footmen could come any minute, and she did not think Mr. Metos could save them now
"Zee!" Charlotte called. "Zee, wait up!"
Zee didn't even look behind him. He just kept going, as if he didn't hear her-or at least wanted it to seem that way.
But he didn't alter his pace, either, and Charlotte ran until she caught up to him. "Zee!" she said. "What are you doing?"
And still he kept walking. Mew was running in circles around his legs.
"Zee! What are you doing? Zee, you said we were going to wait! You promised!" She grabbed on to his shoulder, and only then did he stop.
"What?" he said. He shook his head. He blinked. "Charlotte?"
"Zee?"
Zee looked at Charlotte, then at himself, then at the world. "Where are we? What's going on?"
Charlotte gaped. "What are you doing?"
He looked around helplessly. "I have no idea…"
CHAPTER 16
IF YOU ASKED CHARON-NOT THAT ANYONE EVER does-he'd tell you he gets a bad rap. The Ferryman for the Dead is widely considered, in both legend and life, to be rather, well, greedy. But really, if you look at all the facts, you can't blame him. He has a family to feed.
Everyone knows he has the worst job in the Underworld. He spends his days rowing back and forth along the Styx, listening to the Dead freak out because they're Dead and they had so much to live for, blah, blah, blah, and where in the heck are the Pearly Gates, anyway?
Actually, he kind of likes that last part.
But regardless, Charon has had his job since the beginning, the Very Beginning; when there first was an Underworld, there was Charon on the river Styx in his ferryboat. He doesn't remember anything before that.
In the Beginning it was a nice life. A few Dead here and there, and most of them knew enough to bring a little tip for the Ferryman. That's what civilized people do, you know. They tip. There's no such thing as a free ride.
But that is beside the point.
Which is:
That was the good old days, when it was just he, Thanatos, Hypnos, Hades, and the Erinyes. They'd pal around and drink wine and play cards, and Hades would tell lewd jokes. He knew so many! No one's ever known as many dirty jokes as Hades! Like, did you hear the one about Perseus and the Gorgon's head?
No?
Oh, anyway. Everything changed when Hades brought Persephone to the Underworld. He got all funny, the way men do. Started spending all his time in the Palace. Never hung out with the guys (or the winged she-demons) anymore. Stopped caring about the Kingdom. He gave Hypnos and Thanatos their fancy-dancy titles, and suddenly ol' Charon was just a grunt, just a laborer, just the Ferryman.
Oh, and then the Dead kept coming. More and more. Charon barely got any time off. He had to get a bigger boat, which he paid for with his own hard-earned money, mind you. Did he mention he had a family to feed?
Oh, and then the Underworld just kept getting bigger and bigger, and Hades tried to lure more Staff so he could sit on his bony butt and pitch woo to the Ice Queen. And Hades promised prospective employees all these lovely perks but didn't bother to tend to those who'd been there since the Beginning. You know how it goes. In with the new, forget the old. At least the Erinyes got to torture people.