I knew she was trying to make light of all this, and I felt my sobs lessen just a bit. I wasn’t insane. Shar hadn’t been erased—we were here, together. I ran a finger over the surface of the table; it was weird, ridgey. I stared at it and the matching chairs, trying to focus and calm myself. The legs were slender, elegant, and white, like … bones!
I jerked my hand back, and through my tears, I saw Hades off to the side. His eyes crinkled. This whole situation amuses him, I thought. We’re just his puppets. That made me start bawling again, even harder this time.
“Meg, Meg,” Shar soothed gently, but I heard her voice cracking. She grabbed both my hands in hers and bowed her head over our intertwined fingers. Then she cried too.
“Margaret! Sharisse! Stop!” Hades said sternly after a few minutes.
I didn’t want to hear his voice; it only made everything worse. I laid my head on the table next to Shar’s and together we howled.
“Sharisse! Mon amour, come now, don’t start crying again,” he pleaded, stepping up to her and putting a hand on her bare arm.
Violently she shook him off, shot him an evil albeit wet glance, then turned back to me and cried some more.
Hades paced around us, his expression quickly morphing from annoyed to alarmed. He had to know there was no end in sight; once started, the hysterics had to run their course.
Finally he threw up his hands, pulled over one of the bony chairs, and threw himself into it, tapping his foot while leaning his elbows on his knees.
“All right, all right,” he groused. “What if there was a way for you two to talk on a regular basis?”
We looked up, mistrustful, but it brought the wailing to a halt. Seeing that he’d made an impression, he rushed on.
“Being the magnanimous god that I am, I will allow you to communicate. Once a week. For five minutes.”
“Once a week? Five minutes!” Shar whined, “Is that all?”
“It’s something,” I said, feeling a tiny tad like myself again and pathetically grateful for even this small concession. Just the thought of being able to talk to Shar made me feel better. She let go of me to wipe her face with the back of her hand.
I did the same. “Where exactly are we?” I asked.
“You are on the brink, Margaret.” Hades flashed his perfect smile at me and pointed into the darkness, where I could now make out some body of water. “That is the Styx. Cross that and you’ll enter my realm.”
“No thanks.” I shook my head.
“Well, if you fail … ” He raised his hands in an open-palmed shrug. “Then this will be permanent. But then, you’ll both be in Tartarus, and I’m sure Sharisse will tell you that it’s not all that bad.”
“I beg to differ,” Shar sniffed.
Hades wiped a tear from her mutinous face. “Cara mia, always playing devil’s advocate! It makes you so … alluring.”
He glanced at her with a lascivious look and we both shivered. There was no way either of us was going to stay here permanently; we had enough incentive to get our jobs done.
“How will Shar be able to talk to me?” I asked.
A bejeweled box, about the size of a milk crate and bound with iron clasps and hinges, appeared on the bone table. Hades eyed Shar intently. “Sharisse, this will be waiting for you in my throne room, but be careful. Pandora will have a fit if you damage it.”
“Pandora?” Shar interrupted. “You mean this is … ?”
“Pandora’s Box—exactly, mon amour !”
Shar cocked her head. “Can you please stop calling me that?”
“If that’s Pandora’s Box, don’t open it, Shar,” I warned. “All the troubles of the world are in there!”
Hades yawned. “The box is empty.” He lifted the lid and we both flinched as the hinges squealed. Nothing happened. No monsters, disasters, or plagues descended upon us.
“See?” Hades said. “I told you the truth.”
“But then why would Pandora keep it?” I asked.
“Souvenir?” Hades shrugged. “Because of its history, it has become a window on the world. Open the lid, and if Margaret is at the designated place at the appointed time, you’ll be able to see and talk to each other.”
“But how will I know when she’s going to be there?” Shar asked. “Couldn’t we just use our cell phones? You can do that, right?”
“Questions! Questions!” Hades tutted, handing Shar a delicate gold-link bracelet with a watch face. “This will help you keep mortal time in my domain. It will chime three times: once as a five-minute warning to get to the throne room, once when the five minutes commences, and lastly when the five minutes are up. Ben Franklin designed and created it. Useful man to have around. I must see if I can renew his contract.” Hades gave us a wicked smile.
“Ben Franklin?” I asked. “As in Benjamin Franklin?”
Shar nodded.
“But—” I started.
“I’ll explain later,” she said, taking the watch and fastening it around her wrist. “Let’s just say he’s the Underworld’s major-domo.”
“Got it.” I turned to Hades. “Do I get a box too?”
“Of course not!” he scoffed. “There’s only one Pandora’s Box, and it’s not going back to the mortal plane even if it is empty. Every Tuesday, between, say, 6:55 and 7:00 p.m., go here.” He flicked his wrist and a thick, cream-colored business card appeared between his buffed fingernails. When he handed it to me, I could see that it was shaped like a tiny cake covered in curlicue writing.
Pandora’s Box
1118 57th Street
“Pandora’s Box, the store?” I eyed him warily. “What do they sell there?”
A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “Take your mind out of the gutter. It’s a gourmet confectioner. To die for.” He bit his bottom lip. “And some have. Just be in front of Pandora’s by 6:55 tomorrow evening and you’ll be able to talk to Sharisse to your heart’s content.”
“For five minutes,” I snapped.
He pointed at me and I felt a pinch on my arm. There was a popping sound and a feather floated to the floor.
“You said—”
“Don’t push me, Margaret. Go to the window at the designated day and time and if Sharisse is inclined to speak with you, you’ll see her in the window of Pandora’s. Now, this little reunion has gone on long enough. Mi corazón.” He nodded at Shar and she vanished. He and I were standing in my dorm room, the fleece hovering at his elbow.
“Where’s Shar?” I demanded. “There were things I wanted to say. Things I had to ask … ” I looked around helplessly.
“You’ll have an opportunity to talk to Sharisse tomorrow. Hopefully my generosity will be an incentive for you to perform. And by the way”—he glared at me—“never, NEVER do that to the fleece again.”
I watched as the closet door slid open by itself. The crowded hangers parted, making a more-than-ample space for the fleece. The garment bag floated in and settled gently on the rod.
“It needs quiet time,” Hades said, walking over to the closet and smoothing out the bag before closing the door by hand and vanishing.
I flung myself onto my bed and curled up, staring at Shar’s half of the room. It looked as barren, desolate, and empty as I felt. At least I’d be able to talk to her tomorrow—if Hades kept his promise, which I wasn’t about to bank on.
There was a bang on the door.
“Go away,” I said, more to the pillow than to whomever was out there—probably Alana and company come to torment me about imaginary roommates. Then the door handle shook, as if someone was putting a key into the lock. I pushed myself up on the bed and watched the knob quickly turn.
The door was thrust open and two men in dark suits, black shades, and earpieces came in, carting several Louis Vuitton trunks on wheeled carriers.
“In here?” one of them said to someone out in the hall.
“My paper says Room 29. Doesn’t it say Room 29? Just move so I can get out of this hallway!” a voice grated from just outside.
The men quickly pushed the luggage farther into the room and stepped aside, letting in a tall, solid-looking girl dressed in a loose, spangled navy top; beat-up, leathery looking pants; and pansy-yellow flats. A gray scarf with little silver horses embroidered into it was tied around her neck, and feathery sable hair stuck out the back of the trucker hat perched on her head.
She surveyed the room quickly, not bothering to take off the huge, dark bug-eye glasses perched on her nose. When she caught sight of me, sitting on my bed and clutching my pillow, she stared for a moment, then let out a breathy sigh that seemed to catch in her throat. Was she disappointed to find me here?
“Derek!” she grunted at one of the men. He rushed over to her and the two of them conversed in hushed voices, she growling and he apologetic.
“I guess this will have to do for now!” She waved a hand, dismissing them. Hopping to her command, they scurried out the door, closing it behind them.
The girl paced up and down, her heels clicking against the smooth linoleum tiles on the floor. She went over to the window and looked out, then rushed back to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out before slamming it shut again.
“Why isn’t there a deadbolt on this?” she said, looking the door up and down. “Or at least a slide lock with a chain?”
“Dunno,” I said, getting up and finally realizing what had just happened—I’d gotten a new roommate.
The girl leaned back against the door and slumped. “Not exactly what I expected.”
“You mean having to room with someone?” I offered, not kindly. I didn’t know if she didn’t like the idea of me as a roomie, or roomies in general, but I wasn’t too keen on her. Too pushy, obviously too high maintenance, and I didn’t want anyone taking Shar’s place.
She didn’t answer, but threw up her large hands before tucking them in her front pockets. She looked around the room over the top of her glasses, her glance resting on the posters on the walls. She tilted her head. “This is promising.”
Excuse me?
“I’m Meg,” I said, planting myself defensively in my half of the room.
“Nice taste in tunes, Meg,” said the gangly girl. Her eyes, still hidden behind her shades, seemed to be fixed on the wall, her head moving up and down in a fluid motion as if she was keeping time to unheard music. She was checking out the photo of Matt Davey, the lead guitarist for Elysian Fields. “I’m Paulina.”
“Oh,” I replied, keeping my voice even. Of course my new roommate was Paulina Swanson. Like last time, Hades had given us—or rather, me—an in.
There was another pounding on the door. For the next four hours, Paulina’s suited, secret-service-type goons moved her in à la Design Star—when they were done, it looked like she, not Shar, had been my roommate for the last seven months. The room had morphed from goth/Barbie to half empty to EMO-den, although it didn’t take Paulina long to turn Derek’s OCD for organization into a whirlwind of disarray. He would unpack a case only for her to go sifting through a drawer or bin, leaving clothes hanging over edges and scattering CDs like birdseed. Shar had complained that I was a walking havoc-wreaker; was I this bad? Well, even if Paulina’s posters, semi-slovenliness, and sartorial expression seemed to match mine, it didn’t matter—she just pushed in and took over. Only Shar had license to be that way with me, and while Hades may have put Poo-lina in Shar’s place, I wanted none of it.
At least, until Derek started unloading her sound system—an industrial mosh of equipment that looked like it belonged to a professional DJ. Floor-to-ceiling speakers, CD changer for I don’t know how many CDs, laptop, iHome, surround sound; if she set the volume to two, it would probably knock down the walls. I fought to put this into perspective as the entire Elysian Fields catalog—including rare, live, and early performances—were loaded and started playing en circuit.
Think of Shar, think of Shar, think of Shar! A silent mantra played in my head like a loop until I felt like I could hear Shar’s voice speaking, like a little angel on my shoulder: Think of the kind of deal Paulina must have made with Hades for all this!
As if on cue, the voice of my own conscience joined in. Paulina’s awful! But look at her. How old could she be? 17? 18? 19 at most? Kids don’t make deals with the Lord of the Underworld.
But even as I thought this, I remembered why I was here in the first place—me, kid, deal with Hades. And of course there was the very real possibility that Paulina wasn’t a kid at all. Maybe she was a million years old like Arkady, but wily enough to not overlook any details like not getting stuck in an aging body. If that was the case, she could be really dangerous.
I stayed on my side of the room and watched her shuffle around, hoping to get a clue about who and what she was. All I learned was that she had dark ghetto fashion sense, a wicked music collection, and was paranoid and difficult. Why else would she keep opening the door a crack to see if anyone was outside, then start blasting music—practically inviting everyone on the floor to drop by and visit?
Resolutely, I approached the closet and slid my door open. Nothing tumbled out this time. Assaulted by my belongings when they’d opened it to put Paulina’s clothes away, Derek and friends had taken it upon themselves to reorganize my stuff, too, whether I wanted it or not. At that point I’d been too shell-shocked to stop them.
I lifted out the garment bag, laid it on my bed, and began to unzip it, noticing that as I did so, the stereo volume went down.
“What’s that?” Paulina’s gravelly voice was in my ear and I nearly jumped out of my skin. She’d slid silently up and had waited to speak until she was right behind me. When I whirled around to face her, she was looking at me from behind her glasses; it was dark outside and she hadn’t taken them off yet. I didn’t like the idea that she was watching me at such close range; it made me uncomfortable, but I kept my cool.
“I’m getting ready for tomorrow,” I said, casually pulling open the garment bag so that the fleece spilled out. “It’s supposed to be chilly, so I thought I might wear this.”
I drew the fleece out and held it up. Without its master present, it wasn’t giving off vibes of power, but it had changed. Free of its plastic sheath, it was as light as a fluffy wad of spun sugar, with an odor to match. With any luck this would ramp up the temptation factor. The fleece needed all the help it could get.
Paulina’s mouth hung open and she slid the glasses down the bridge of her strong nose. She didn’t take them off completely, but it was enough for me to see her eyes under the shadow of her hat and her choppy bangs. They were steely gray. What was that expression … that the eyes are the window of the soul? Hers weren’t giving any secrets up. What would mine tell her?
“Where … did … you … get … that?” Paulina’s voice reverberated with quiet awe.
She wants it! Could I really be this lucky? Will she just push me aside and put it on? I worked hard to control the expression on my face, keeping my features nonchalant, free-and-easy. Normal.
I shrugged. “It’s vintage.” Not a total lie—the fleece was old. I wanted to add, do you want to try it on? But I never got a chance. Paulina’s star-struck, slack-jawed expression twisted into a disgusted sneer.
“Hope you didn’t dump too much cash on it,” she snorted. “How many little creatures gave their lives to make that nasty coat?”
She spat out the “nasty coat” bit and I felt my stomach twist in frustration and defeat. A lump formed in my throat. I should have known—there was no way this would be that simple. Nothing with Hades was.
“It’s actually fleece, not fur,” I managed. I couldn’t give up; even if I couldn’t get her to wear it now, I had to get her to wea
r it eventually.
“Whatever it’s made of, it’s whack,” said Paulina, shoving her shades flat against her face and turning her back on me. “I’d hide that thing away where no one will ever find it, if I were you.”
Believe me, I would if I could, but you have to wear it so Shar can come back.
On went the music again, even louder than before. Resigning myself to the fact that there was nothing I could do at that moment, I started pulling together an outfit for tomorrow: black boots, black leggings, and a green top, much like the one that Shar was wearing when Hades took her. No one else might know or care that she was in Tartarus, but I did. As I smoothed out the sleeve of my top, I realized that I was humming and bopping along to the music.
“That’s way better.” Paulina loomed over me again, smiling like a vulture. I could smell her breath, peanuts and chocolate. She’d been chomping on a Snickers bar; the empty wrapper was squashed in her paw. She flicked her head in the direction of the fleece, which was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor at the foot of my bed. How did it get there?
I was thinking that I’d better hang it up before Hades appeared, froze time, and reprimanded me for mistreating it again. He’d seemed pretty stressed about it, and I got it that since technically the fleece was once his nephew, he wanted it handled with a little respect. As I bent to pick it up, it seemed the bass thumped out of time with the music. I stopped and listened, and sure enough, it happened again—but it wasn’t a problem with the download or the speakers. Someone was banging on the door.
I turned to Paulina and motioned for her to turn the volume down, but she stood frozen like a deer—no, moose—in the headlights. I glanced at the clock. It was 9:55 p.m. We had five minutes until quiet hour, but sometimes the RA was anal. Still, we had to answer the door, and Paulina wouldn’t budge.
“Turn it down before we get in trouble!” I shouted.
Mechanically, she shuffled over to the stereo. When the volume was lowered to almost a whisper, but not totally off, I opened the door.
Sirenz Back in Fashion Page 7
