Sden!
Zee leaned into the bin of shadows and whispered,
"Ek skotou es to phaos, ek thanatou es to sden! Ek skotou es to
phaos, ek thanatou es to sden! Ek skotou es to phaos, ek thana-
tou es to sden!"
There was movement in the bin. A stirring. The shadows were coming alive.
"Ek skotou es to phaos, ek thanatou es to sden!"
The pile began to thicken, the shadows were growing. The pile wrenched and pulsed, and then a shadow jumped from the bin and stretched its arms out. Then another. Then another.
"Ek skotou es to phaos, ek thanatou es to sden!"
The shadows were leaping out-or were being tossed out by the other shadows. Some lay limp on the ground, others stretched and writhed until they, too, popped up and stood in front of Zee.
He had two dozen, then three, standing at attention in front of him. A few others roamed around the room aimlessly, and others still lay lifeless in the bin.
He stared warily at his strange new soldiers, these spirits cut out of darkness. They twitched and shimmered as they stood, seemingly eager to try out the profits of life. Would they really obey? Would they turn on him? How alive were they-did they think, did they want? They were smoky and indistinct, vague creatures with stumps for arms, and they looked as if they could haunt Zee for the rest of time. There was something so… negative about them; they seemed to be cast from Nothing, like animate black holes, and Zee could not help but feel that if they got too close to him, they would take his soul.
He had to command them now. He had to be strong and sure. If only he were Charlotte, he could do this. But he wasn't. So he had to channel all the Charlotteness inside him. Zee took a deep breath.
Suddenly he heard a loud squawk behind him. Mew! He whirled around. The Footmen were approaching the lab, grinning broadly and viciously, Mew running behind them. Mew leaped from the ground and began clawing feverishly at one of the Footmen's thighs, and he reached down and threw her aside. She hit the ground and yelped.
"Shadows!" Zee yelled. "Attack them!"
His heart went into his throat. He had no idea what would happen-it all had been a good plan in theory, but in theory shadows could not come to life.
The shadows flickered, expanded into the air, stretched up and out as if they were letting out a silent roar.
Zee stepped back. The Footmen sneered and took long, sure steps toward Zee. He suddenly doubted Philonecron, doubted the shadows, doubted the whole plan, doubted everything but the Footmen, who were going to tear him to pieces.
And then the shadows sprang. They moved like shot fire, hurling through the air, trailing darkness behind them. They were on the Footmen in a blink, swarming over them, and the Footmen seemed swallowed by darkness.
They didn't have a chance. Some shadows stretched out like snakes and slithered over them, cutting swaths through their bodies. Others grew themselves long legs, which they used to wrap around the Footmen's waists, and long arms, which they used to pull the Footmen's arms from their shoulders and smash them to the ground. Others wrapped themselves around the Footmen's legs and squeezed until the legs fell off. The Footmen flailed around, trying to toss shadows aside, but they couldn't get hold of them. Some of the shadows dived right into the Footmen and then burst out again, spewing dust everywhere as Zee watched, wide-eyed, shuddering. Still the Footmen struggled and flailed, large bits missing from their bodies, while their body parts fell off and shattered on the ground. Their heads toppled and fell, eerie grins frozen on their faces, then smashed against the ground too. Soon there was nothing left of them but shredded tuxedo and chunks of clay.
Zee could barely breathe. His whole body was wracked with shivers. The shadows retreated, retracted, slid over to him calmly, and stood at attention again-waiting for their next target. Zee imagined them tunneling inside his own body, bursting out, sending chunks of Zee everywhere while he watched himself being eaten from the inside out. What on earth had he done?
Zee closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, then suddenly remembered Mew He hurried over to the corner where she was lying on her side whimpering. He crouched down next to her.
"Dear cat, are you all right?" he whispered gently.
He carefully ran his hands over her rib cage, her hips, her spine, her back legs, then her front. She let out a little yelp and hopped up. Her left front leg dangled in the air, crooked.
"Oh, Mew!" Zee said. "They broke your leg. Does it hurt too badly?" She cocked her head and looked at him sadly. "Oh, Mew…" He looked around the room, then grabbed a piece of tuxedo and gently wrapped up the kitten's leg. "You know," he murmured, scratching her chin, "you really are an extraordinary cat."
Then he gasped. Mew was covered in blood.
Oh, he realized slowly, it was his blood, from his arm. It wasn't gushing or anything-more of a steady dribble, really. Zee ripped off another strip of tuxedo, wrapped it around the wound, picked Mew up delicately, motioned to the shadows, and made his way out of the cave.
Zee had to hurry. Philonecron had left ages ago; it could already be too late. He'd stumbled at every turn since they'd come down to the Underworld. It would be just his luck to arrive at the Palace after Hades had been overthrown. Carrying Mew gently in his arms, Zee turned back into the passageway in the cliffs through which the Footman had led him before. The shadows floated behind him. He kept glancing back at them to make sure they were still in place, still contained-in a second they could leap at him and tear him to pieces.
But no, they were calm still-floating gently just above the ground. They were perfectly silent and utterly attentive to Zee. There was no indication that they had just ripped two creatures to bits. Zee felt like Dr. Frankenstein, only his monsters were truly capable of evil. They had no conscience, no heart, no remorse-and they were devastatingly fast, utterly malleable, and, it seemed, supremely powerful.
And they obeyed his every word.
Zee shivered again.
Mew was perched in his arms, peering ahead to the light at the end of the passageway. A few of the skeleton birds flew above them, and Mew stared up at them and hissed loudly. She was talking tough, but Zee could feel her trembling against his body, and her eyes were dull and sad.
"What am I going to do with you?" he whispered to her. "I can't take you to the Palace like this."
She turned and glared at him.
"You've got a broken leg, cat, and I have to hurry. We could be too late already. You can't limp to the Palace."
She narrowed her eyes and let out a small grunt.
"Of course, I need someone to protect me from these guys," he murmured, motioning behind him at his small shadow regiment. They still followed loyally, bodylike puffs of smoke moving silently through the air.
Finally they emerged from the cliff into a clearing, the same rocky clearing where they had first encountered
Philonecron, where everything had gone so terribly wrong. And that's when Zee remembered… Mr. Metos!
Zee whirled around and looked up at the cliff face. Mr. Metos was still there (where, exactly, would he have gone?), now hanging limply from his chains. Zee's heart froze. Was he still alive? Philonecron had said he had made Mr. Metos's liver immortal, but not the rest of him. Could he truly survive?
Zee heard singing in the distance and he shuddered. He couldn't leave Mr. Metos up there. He cast a glance toward the steaming river in the distance.
Beyond it lay the Land of the Dead, the Palace, Hades-and somewhere, Philonecron and the shadows. Had they reached the Palace? Had they reached Hades? How much time would it take for Zee to get across? Too much. There was no time, he knew that.
And he looked back up at Mr. Metos-bloody and limp. Somehow Grandmother Winter had known him, or known about him. She had been trying to tell Zee to find him, he knew that now Grandmother Winter had chosen Mr. Metos for a reason; she believed in him. And now Zee had to save him.