We flew all night long and arrived in New York City a few hours before the sunup. I really did try to get some rest, but let’s face it—it’s not easy to sleep when your sister’s life is on the line. By the time they opened the cabin doors and allowed us to exit the plane, I was so tired I could barely see straight. And Jareth didn’t seem much better. Not surprising—from what I could tell, he spent the night torn apart by nightmares—tossing and turning and moaning his sister’s name. I feel bad for him and wish there was some way to help relieve his guilt. But at the same time, I really hope it doesn’t distract him from our mission.
“At this point, rats are the least of our problems,” Jareth replies, hooking the crowbar to his belt and scanning the small park for any wandering early morning police patrols. From the airport, we took a cab downtown to the Financial District, where Jareth hit a hardware store for supplies and I hit a butcher shop for a pound of raw hamburger, which I had already devoured on the way here. Due to the undercover nature of our mission, we couldn’t bring blood donors with us. And the little bit of synthetic Jareth did manage to stash away in the jet isn’t doing the job of quenching my thirst. I don’t know how I ever lived on it for so long.
“Least or not, they’re still creepy,” I remind him. “Those beady eyes, those bald tails… I mean, why the heck are their tails bald, anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.” My stomach releases a loud growl, evidently not caring about the grossness of the vermin in question. Hopefully the vampire coven Sunny and Magnus are staying at will be able to hook us up with some real cocktails. The last thing I need is to get too hungry—and fall off the wagon—after spending so much time learning good blood-drinking habits in vampire rehab.
“Well, I’m sure they think you’re creepy, too,” Jareth says. “Considering you don’t even have a tail at all. Now go! Before someone sees us!”
“Right.” After one more scan of the park, I scramble down the ladder and into the awaiting sewer. Jareth follows me, using his vampire strength to drag the grate back over the hole—and cover our tracks—so our little trespassing adventure won’t be spotted by the NYPD or other concerned citizens. Last thing we need is to be mistaken for terrorists in some kind of “See Something, Say Something” public service campaign gone wrong.
As I jump from the ladder onto the slick concrete floor, the grate crashes shut with an echoing boom, stealing away the predawn light and leaving us in complete darkness. I squint, trying to get my eyes to adjust, wishing I’d eaten more carrots while I was still alive. Normal vampires, as I mentioned before, have perfect twenty-twenty vision, but mine is still a bit suspect—due to the blood virus—especially when I haven’t had a decent drink in a while, which weakens my vampire powers. I’m more than a little thankful when Jareth hands me a small flashlight, though at first I’m scared to click it on, wondering what I might see. Especially if he’s right about rats being the least of our worries down here.
Eventually curiosity and practicality win out over my fears and I flick on the flashlight, turning the device toward the sound of rushing water—praying it is, indeed, water and not some kind of human sewage or radioactive slime. (Hey, it happened in Friday the 13th Part 8: Jason Takes Manhattan.) The beam of light illuminates a small concrete waterfall, where (thankfully) relatively clean-looking water rushes from one drainage pipe to another. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Back in the day there used to be an aboveground waterway flowing through what we now know as Canal Street,” Jareth, my tour guide, explains, joining me on the ground. “They paved it over around 1812 and it became New York’s first underground sewer.” He motions upstream—to the dank, low-ceilinged concrete passageway the water is gushing out from. “Let’s go.”
“In there?” I ask, biting my lower lip, nervous all over again. “Through the water?” I mean yes, at least it’s not radioactive slime, but still!
Jareth looks down, consulting his map. “It’s not the most direct route,” he confesses. “Or the most pleasant. But at least we’ll avoid being seen by construction workers or MTA employees walking the subway tracks.” He throws me a grimace. “Getting arrested isn’t going to help us save your sister.”
Unfortunately his words make a lot of sense, so I suck in a breath and prepare to dive in. Sunny better be damned grateful for this rescue attempt, that’s all I can say. Like, “letting me borrow her Tiffany heart necklace for at least three special occasions” grateful. Especially since my brand-new, not-so-waterproof Doc Martens boots are never going to be the same after this little spelunking mission. (Yes, I know, I know, one should never buy and wear new boots when embarking on an undercover mission through the sewers of New York City. But you didn’t see Bertha’s hot slayer outfit and experience the pains of wardrobe inferiority.)
Of course now, I’m just experiencing the pains of foot blisters, so what do I know?
Doing my best to sidestep the waterfall, I plunge into the narrow, squared-off tunnel, crouching as to not hit the low ceiling. The freezing water splashes over my ankles as I press forward, dodging slimy purple plant tentacles that drip down from the occasional metal grates above. Radioactive or not, the water smells foul and I try not to breathe in too much as I hug the tunnel’s left side, dodging rusty, mold-covered pipes sticking out from the concrete.