“Just a little storm,” I said. “It’s normal.”
I didn’t sound convincing to my own ears. Why did I think I was going to sound convincing to them? Which is probably why an old man dressed in a hospital gown echoed, “A little storm? And I suppose you think those are a few little birds?” He pointed above his head.
I didn’t have to look. I knew what he was talking about. A flock of black birds had been amassing and flying in tighter and tighter circles over the beach all day.
“Those are just some birds,” I said, feigning nonchalance. “No different than this one.” I pointed to a plump white bird — the tips of her wings and tail looking as if they’d been accidentally dipped in black ink — that was sitting a few feet away from me on the dock railing. “They’re completely harmless.”
The old man in the hospital gown laughed like I’d made a joke — not a very funny one, since his laugh was bitter. “I’m an amateur ornithologist, young lady. I know the difference between mourning doves and ravens. That” — he pointed at Hope, my pet bird — “is a member of the Columbiformes order. They’re harmless.”
He was right about that. Hope had, in fact, saved my life several times, though one wouldn’t know it to look at her, especially the way she was busy preening herself as if she were at a Club Med, not a weigh station on the highway to hell (or heaven).
“Those,” Hospital Gown went on, pointing upwards, “are ravens. Scavenger birds. Want to know what scavenger birds eat? Carrion … the dead. In other words, us.”
Chloe gasped, and she wasn’t the only one. All up and down the line, I heard murmurs of discontent. No one likes the idea of getting their flesh eaten off them, not even people who are already dead.
It was just my luck to get an amateur ornithologist in my line.
“Hey,” I said, reaching out to give Chloe’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Everything’s under control. See this?” I showed them the heavy diamond pendant I wore on a gold chain around my neck. Normally I kept it hidden beneath my clothing, because horrible things had happened to everyone I’d shown it to in the past. But these people had already suffered the worst fate was going to offer them.
I sure hoped so, anyway.
“This diamond turns black as a warning whenever there’s danger or trouble,” I explained. “So we’re all good.”
“Really? I’d say we’re screwed, because that rock’s about as black as you can get.” Tropical Shorts pointed to his own arm. “And I know a little something about black.”
I glanced down. Tropical Shorts was exaggerating. But the stone had gone from its normal silver-gray to the same inky black as Hope’s wings and tail tips.
Damn. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the diamond had turned colors, considering what was going on all around us. Maybe, in addition to acting as a detector for Furies, the diamond also changed colors in inclement weather.
Before I could say anything, Chloe asked wonderingly, “Is that like a mood ring? I had one of those once. It would be the prettiest purple around my mom and sisters, but whenever my dad was in the room, it turned black. My dad got so mad, he threw it out. He said it must have been broken.”
“Must have been,” Tropical Shorts said, raising his eyebrows at me. “Is that why you drove away from him in the middle of a hurricane and banged up your head? You and your dad not get along so well?”
“What?” Chloe’s fingers fluttered nervously to her forehead. “What’s wrong with my head?”
“Nothing,” I said, hastily burying my diamond back beneath my dress’s bodice. “Look, everything’s going to be fine. We’re having a few technical difficulties right now, is all. We’re doing everything we can to fix them. We appreciate your patience.”
Only I wasn’t sure how you fixed fog — let alone thunder or temperatures soaring into the nineties or scavenger birds — in a skyless place housed in a vast subterranean cave where sunlight never shone. Sure, the black orchids and other flowers that bloomed in the courtyard of the castle up the hill didn’t need sunlight in order to grow. They were what my mom, the environmental biologist, would call non-photosynthetic “cheaters.”
But technically, so was I. All of the Underworld’s full-time inhabitants, including my boyfriend, had cheated death in one way or another … though some more recently than others, so they weren’t as familiar with the etiquette of the realm of the dead.
At least that’s what I tried to remind myself when I heard someone running down the pier and turned around to see my cousin coming towards me at a breakneck pace.
“Pierce,” Alex said, skidding to a stop in front of me. Panting, he leaned over to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Thank God you’re okay. I thought I’d never find you.”
I don’t know which was more shocking: the sight of my cousin Alex wearing a black kerchief around his head, pirate-style, with a whip coiled in one hand, or the fact that he was showing concern for my well-being. Both were equally out of character.
“Alex,” I said when I’d recovered from my shock. “When did you wake up?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d been back in the castle, stretched out on a cot in the kitchen, floating in and out of consciousness — a not uncommon reaction, I’d been told, to being raised from the dead, then brought to the Underworld. “I thought Mr. Graves —”
“Is that the weird old guy in the top hat?” Alex straightened and wiped some sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, it was pretty easy to ditch him.”
“I would think so, considering he’s blind,” I said hotly. “And he isn’t weird. That’s how ship surgeons dressed back in the eighteen hundreds, when he first got here ….” My voice trailed off as I realized from Alex’s expression how insane I must sound.
“Right,” Alex said, sarcastically. “That’s not at all weird.”
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” I asked, eyeing the whip. Then my heart gave a nervous thump. “Where’s Kayla?”
Alex’s jaw dropped. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me Kayla’s here, too?”
I couldn’t believe it. “Alex, of course she is. Don’t you remember? We brought her here to protect her from —”
“Nevermind,” Alex said, shaking his head. “It’s too late to go back for her. The kid and that crazy-ass dog are right behind me.” He reached out to grab my wrist. “Come on, Pierce, I heard something about a boat. We’ve got to find it.”
“Alex,” I said, now staring down at his hand. “What are you talking about?”
Alex looked impatient. “Pierce, don’t you get it? I’m rescuing you.”
3
Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous,
Pallid in face, and so emaciate
That from the bones the skin did shape itself.
DANTE ALIGHIERI, Purgatorio, Canto XXIII
Come on.” Alex tightened his grip on my arm. “We don’t have much time. I overheard that blind guy tell the kid that all hell was about to break loose —”
I winced at my cousin’s choice of words as the crowd of mostly senior citizens, plus Tropical Shorts and the He Is First girl, began to murmur again in alarm.
“No.” Yanking my wrist from Alex’s grasp, I shoved the tray of water glasses at him. He took hold of it instinctively, letting me snatch away the whip. “You want to help keep hell from breaking loose? Give these people water. Got it? Water. Not whips.”
Then, lowering my voice so those nearby wouldn’t overhear, I asked, “What’s wrong with you? We brought you here to keep you out of danger — to get you away from the people who were trying to hurt you back in Isla Huesos. Remember? Seth Rector? Coffin Fest? Ring a bell?”