by Meg Cabot
“Maybe a little,” he said. “But mostly you were angry, like the captain. That isn’t a bad thing. That’s why he chose you. You’re very alike. You both feel angry — at what was done to you, and at what you see being done to others. You both need someone holding on to your strings, to keep your anger from taking you so high into the sky, you’re lost forever.”
Tears filled my eyes. This time, I couldn’t stop them. All I could do was hope that if I didn’t speak, they might go away on their own.
“Now that the captain is gone,” Mr. Liu said, “there’s no one to hold on to your strings. You’re going to go wherever the wind — your anger — blows you. You might even blow away from us altogether. The thought has crossed your mind.”
“No.” The word burst from me unbidden, along with a sob. I choked both back. “No,” I said in a calmer voice. “That isn’t true.”
How had he read my mind? And what was this nonsense about my being a kite?
“It is true,” he said. “Until you get control of your own strings, you can help no one. Not the captain. Not us. Not even yourself.”
I reached up to swipe at my tears.
“Mr. Liu,” I said. “Thank you for that. Now I really need to get going —”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I’m not the first to say it to you. Someone else has said it to you before, I think, only in a different way.”
“Mr. Liu,” I said, laughing in disbelief through my tears. “I can guarantee that no one else has ever accused me of being a kite fueled by anger with no one to hold on to my strings.”
“No. But a person who needs to discover herself?”
Children who fail to do well in school can often still be successful in life — my school counselor’s assurance to my parents, back in Connecticut, suddenly popped into my head — if they discover something else in which to engage.
Mr. Liu must have read the dawning recognition in my face, since he held out his massive hand. “Here,” he said.
I looked down. “Oh, no,” I said, instantly recognizing what he was giving me. “I can’t take that. John said —”
“You must take it.” Mr. Liu’s voice was unyielding. “It is the string for you to hold on to.”
It was the whip, neatly coiled and attached to one of Mr. Liu’s wide leather belts, through which Mr. Liu had poked a few extra holes so it would accommodate my slimmer waist.
I took the belt from him, shaking my head even as I reached up to put my arms around his burly neck to hug him. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear, which had multiple silver hoops pierced through it.
He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Remember,” he said. “Don’t let go of your strings.”
My eyes so filled with tears I could hardly see, I nodded, then wrapped the belt around my waist. The last hole fit, but barely. The end of the belt trailed down almost to my knees, so I tucked it back through. I suspected the effect wasn’t going to win me any teen magazine fashion awards.
Then Mr. Graves was back, saying how there was absolutely no reason for us to go to Isla Huesos, as he was fairly certain he had enough yeast left over from his attempts at beer brewing to bake some bread, and if we could only wait —
Thunder clapped again, loudly enough to cause even the thick castle walls to tremble.
“No more waiting.” Mr. Liu took me by the arm and began to sweep me up the stairs, saying, in a low voice, “Go now. We’ll hold them off as long as we can —”
“Hold who off?” Kayla asked, alarmed, lifting her long skirts as she hurried up the stairs after us. “The Furies? I thought all they wanted was to kill Pierce’s boyfriend.”
Thunder boomed so long, the metal sconces on the walls rattled.
“Clearly that isn’t all they want,” Mr. Liu said. At the top of the stairs, he gave Frank a stern look. “Don’t be late getting back. For your sake, as well as ours.”
Frank adjusted his bag, which tinkled suggestively. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Mr. Liu.
We reached the open doorway. Standing in front of it was my cousin.
“What if I’m the one causing the pestilence?” Alex asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if I came with you? It might draw the Furies away from here.”
“Alex,” I said hotly. “As you once pointed out to me, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you. And I’m pretty sure that’s true of the Underworld, too. But if it’s so important to you to come with us, please, be my guest.”
Mr. Liu might not have been so far off base about me being fueled by anger after all. Because as I said the words be my guest, I shoved Alex into the doorway, then followed him through it, figuring whatever happened next, he’d thoroughly deserve.
“Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,
That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,
And those thou makest so disconsolate.”
DANTE ALIGHIERI, Inferno, Canto I
What the —”
As he stumbled through the doorway, Alex let out a stream of expletives so colorful, I was glad Chloe wasn’t around to overhear it.
Frank seemed to agree. “Kiss your mother with that mouth, mate?” he whispered, lifting a finger to his lips.
It was so dark, however, the gesture was barely visible. Outside, I could hear the steady pounding of rain. The scent of moist earth was heavy in the air.
“I don’t have a mother,” Alex said irritably to Frank. “What is this place? Why are you whispering? And what’s this I’m stepping in?” He lifted his shoes in disgust as they made crunching sounds against the material carpeting the stone floor. “Sick, it’s everywhere.”
“Dried poinciana petals,” I whispered. “There’s a huge tree outside.”
I realized I might have overreacted when I shoved him through the door. I hadn’t given him or Kayla much prepping as to what to expect. As a team leader, I kind of sucked.
On the other hand, experience was on my side. The first time I’d passed through this door, the journey had ended with my own body on a gurney in an emergency room.
This time, because none of us was dead, we ended up somewhere else entirely … somewhere I’d also been before. Only that time, I’d had John as my guide.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting — Mr. Liu had closed the door on his side, blocking off any glow from the Underworld — I could make out Frank’s silhouette as he went towards the ornate metal gate at the front of the tomb and checked to see if there was anyone around who might notice us creeping forth.
But who’d be out for a stroll in a cemetery in the middle of a hurricane?
Through the small, cross-shaped slits that had been built into the brick walls, I could see that the dark sky was tinged with pink. Frank’s words echoed, once more, through my head.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.
The digital numbers on Alex’s waterproof wristwatch read 11:00 p.m. I could see no sign of streetlights on any of the roads surrounding the cemetery.
“The hurricane must have caused a power outage,” I murmured.
Alex was looking around, as was Kayla, but Alex was the more vocal in his complaints.
“What is this place?” he asked again. “A church?” He nearly struck his head on the low ceiling and winced. “For midgets?”
“It’s not a church,” Frank said, before I could figure out a diplomatic response. “But you still might want to show a little respect.”
“Why?” Alex asked. “Did someone die in here? It sure smells like it.”
“You might say that,” Frank replied. “It’s a crypt.”
Kayla said, “No way.” Alex’s response was less polite.
“Yes, it’s a crypt,” I said quickly. No point in glossing over it. “It acts as a portal through which the souls of the departed can enter the land of the dead ….”
That’s how John had explained it to me once, anyway.
&
nbsp; “Unless you aren’t dead, of course,” I went on rapidly. “Which we aren’t, so don’t worry. Then the portal opens to the Isla Huesos Cemetery.”
My explanation must not have sounded all that reassuring, since Alex started swearing again.
“Crap,” he said, looking panicky. “You didn’t say this is where we’re going. You didn’t say anything about a cemetery.” He dove to wrap his fingers around the wrought iron gate that barred the way out, poinciana blossoms crunching madly beneath his feet. “Get me out of here.” He shook the bars when they didn’t budge. “Get me out!”
“Alex,” I said, in what I hoped sounded like a soothing voice. “Come on. There’s nothing here that can hurt you. Truly evil spirits are everywhere but graveyards.” This was a conclusion I’d come to through experience … the experience of having been murdered in my own backyard.
Alex threw me a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? I got killed in a cemetery, remember?”
“Oh, right,” I said. I’d forgotten Alex’s own experience was quite dissimilar to my own. “Never mind.”
Frank rested a heavy hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Easy, son,” he said, though he probably wasn’t more than a couple of years older — at least in looks — than Alex. “We need to make sure no one’s out there.”
“Of course no one’s out there,” Alex cried. “Look at it. It’s a hurricane! But I’d rather be out there in the rain than standing around in some phantom tollbooth, waiting for the dead to pass through me in order to get to the Underworld … or for someone to kill me again. So get me out —”
Frank looked at me, his eyebrows raised.
“Alex,” Kayla said, sounding amused. Despite what she’d seen the last time she’d been in the Isla Huesos Cemetery, she was apparently unbothered at being in it again. “That’s not what The Phantom Tollbooth is about.”
“Frank,” I said, feeling sorry for Alex. “Help him.”
Frank leaned over to help Alex open the gate.
“Anyway,” Kayla went on. “You were just in the Underworld, surrounded by the undead. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is,” Alex said in a tightly controlled voice, “now I’m back in the cemetery where I died, and I would prefer to exit it as soon as possible, thanks.”
A second later, the gate was open, and Alex burst out of John’s tomb. Once he reached the poinciana tree, he turned to stand beneath it, but even its enormous branches didn’t offer much shelter from the pouring rain.
“If you think about it,” Kayla said, the first to break the silence that followed, “it’s kind of normal for him to have post-traumatic stress, considering what happened last time he was in one of these.” She raised her hand to indicate the crypt. “Except there’s no coffin here. Why is that?”
“There was never a body to put in a coffin,” I said to Kayla. “Up until now. This is John’s tomb.”
Kayla’s eyes widened, then she quickly looked away.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. My voice sounded equally small.
I couldn’t blame her. It had been hoped that building the crypt would help put John’s spirit to rest. Mr. Smith — the most recently appointed cemetery sexton — had even had a name carved over the door to the tomb: HAYDEN.
These things had done nothing to quell its owner’s indomitable spirit, however, which had remained restless … until now.
“You all right?” Frank asked me. I barely heard his voice above the howling of the wind, it was so soft, softer than I’d ever heard it. Soft with concern. Concern for me, a girl he’d hated the day he met me.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, and adjusted my bag so it sat more squarely on my shoulder. “We need to find something to wedge that door open.”
The door either hadn’t been there or hadn’t been particularly noticeable any of the other times I’d been inside the tomb …. No big surprise since it was made of rotting wood and hidden in shadow. I was worried if it didn’t stay open, we’d be locked forever from the Underworld (unless I really messed things up and wound up dying again). I didn’t have John’s gift of teleportation. If I did manage to get help for these people, I was going to need a way to deliver it to them (although how I was going to fit a boat through such a small door was a problem I was going to have to deal with later).
“Hang on,” Frank said. “I have just the thing.”
Frank reached down, then pulled a long object from the dead blossoms on the crypt floor. In the darkness I couldn’t tell what it was until I heard the sound of breaking glass as he smashed it against the wall.
“Captain Rob’s Rum,” I said with a sad smile. The brand had been named after John’s abusive, alcoholic father. “How appropriate.”
“Finally, a use for it that won’t give a man a splitting hangover.” Frank wedged the broken neck in the door.
“Are you coming or not?” Alex shouted at us from beneath the poinciana tree.
“We’re coming,” I assured him, and stepped out into the rain.
I swooned away as if I had been dying,
And fell, even as a dead body falls.
DANTE ALIGHIERI, Inferno, Canto V
Kayla found four soggy parking tickets beneath her wipers.
“Isla Huesos cops really are evil,” she declared.
She’d unlocked the doors, and we were all inside her messy subcompact.
“You think they’d suspend alternate-side-of-the-street parking regulations during a hurricane,” Alex said. “I can’t believe you didn’t get towed.”
“I can’t believe your automobile didn’t get stolen,” Frank said. “Is it normal to keep the keys in a little case in the wheel well?”
“It is for me. That way I can’t lose them.” Kayla stuffed the parking tickets into her glove compartment, where I couldn’t help noticing there appeared to be half a dozen other unpaid tickets. “Besides, no one ever looks there for them.”
“I’m shocked you ever have trouble finding anything,” Frank commented sarcastically, peeling away an Island Queen napkin that had become stuck to the bottom of his boot. “It’s so tidy in here. What’s this?”
Kayla snatched the ruby-colored bra he’d dug out from behind his back. “You should know, you’re the one who got it off me,” she said.
Alex, seated behind them, hooted. Now that he was safely out of the cemetery, he seemed to be in a better mood.
“Shut up, Cabrero,” Kayla said, chucking the bra at him. Alex laughingly deflected it as Kayla checked her reflection in the light-up compact mirror she’d fished from the side panel of her door. “Oh, great, my eyeliner is running. I look like a drowned hoochie mama.”
“You look fine,” I said. “Can we please go before someone sees us?”
“Who’s going to see us?” Kayla reached for a spare makeup bag she also kept in the side panel. “It’s pitch-black on this street.”
It was true. All up and down the narrow streets along the cemetery, the windows of every quaintly painted beach cottage were dark, even though, according to Alex’s watch, it was now only a little after eleven o’clock at night.
“For all we know,” Kayla went on as she carefully repainted the black lines around her eyes, “there isn’t a single soul left alive in this town except for us. Well, and the cops who gave me these tickets.”
“Thanks, Kayla.” It was Alex’s turn to sound sarcastic. “That’s a really pleasant thought. Some of us have family members we’re worried about, you know.”
“I’m sure your dad is fine, Alex,” I said as comfortingly as I could. “The power is out in this part of town, is all.”
“And you’re not the only one with family,” Kayla reminded him as she painted. “I’m worried about my mom. Well, not really, because she’s required to be on duty at the hospital for as long as this storm lasts, and the hospital was built to withstand category-five hurricane-force winds. But she’s probably freaked
I haven’t called. Which reminds me, do you think if there’s any Furies around they’ll find us if I turn on the AC and charge my phone? Because my battery is dead and the windows are too fogged up for me to see out of to drive. Could you all breathe less?”
She switched on the engine, and a second later, a powerful blast of lukewarm air was blowing at Alex and me from the front seat. Kayla immediately pulled her phone from the bodice of her dress and plugged it into the charger on her console. “Okay, Pierce,” she asked, “where are we going?”
“Richard Smith’s house,” I said at the same time Alex said, “My house.”
Alex glared at me. “Who’s Richard Smith?”
“He’s the cemetery sexton. Remember, you met him at school the day we had that assembly about Coffin Night. He’s an old friend of Grandpa’s. I think he might be able to help us figure out where the Fates went, and if there really is a Thanatos —”
Alex’s expression, in the dim glow from Kayla’s dashboard, was twisted with outrage. “Pierce, my dad probably thinks I’m dead —”
“You are dead, mate,” Frank said. “To everyone who ever mattered to you, anyway. Get used to it.”
“But I’m not dead,” Alex said. “I’m an NDE, like Pierce. And the last thing I want to do right now is go visit some old friend of Grandpa’s —”
“Alex, Mr. Smith is the only person I can think of who might know of a way to help your dad and all those people we left behind in the Underworld —”
“Meaning your boyfriend,” Alex interrupted, with a scowl.
I prickled. “I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s obvious he’s your biggest priority,” Alex snapped. “Thanatos? That was practically the first word out of your mouth. And you never even mentioned going to see your mom. Ever since you met him, he’s all you care about. The rest of us were worried sick the whole time you were gone, but you didn’t care. Now he’s dead, but he and his world are still all you’re worried about.”
“Oh, my God, Alex,” I said. “That isn’t true. I worried about you and Uncle Chris and my mom and dad the entire time I was gone.”
