I shake my head. Men! But secretly I’m pleased. Maybe a little rock star flirtation is exactly what I need to get my boyfriend back.
“That’s better,” Prim says, sliding into the waters behind us. “Now let’s get this baby bubbling.”
18
For those of you who have never experienced travel by way of hot tub (which, I’m assuming, is the majority of you) let me just say now it’s not exactly the most pleasant experience known to mankind. I mean, sure, if someone gave me the choice between, let’s say, a hot tub time machine trip to the Underworld and a kick in the teeth, I might choose to go hot-tubbing. But it’s certainly not as pleasant an experience as eating ice cream or dancing the night away at your favorite Goth club. More like being shoved into a dryer on spin cycle.
Luckily, it doesn’t last too long and soon I find myself hurtling to the ground on the other side, slamming my butt against a piece of brimstone on impact. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars I didn’t break anything in the process, as I’m guessing Hell doesn’t take United Healthcare.
“You know, you might want to consider fine-tuning the trip,” I suggest bitterly as I scramble to my feet, rubbing my sore butt. “It’s a bit bumpy.”
“What did you expect?” Prim replies in a haughty voice. “It’s a trip to Hell, not a Carnival cruise.”
I suppose he’s got a point. And hey, at least we’re here. I look around, taking in my surroundings. We seem to have landed at the bottom of a deep, dark pit. So deep, in fact, that when I try to look back up the shaft, I can barely make out the glimmers of red, green, and purple from the hot tub waters far above us. And there are no convenient ladder or handholds, leading back up to the surface lands.
I swallow, the realization of what we’ve done hitting me hard and fast. I mean, I’ve put myself in some hairy situations before, but nothing like this. We’ve willingly dropped down into the world of the dead. And if I don’t manage to impress the master of this literally godforsaken place, we might find ourselves stuck here forever. I look up longingly at the faint flickers of light far above, wondering if I’ve made a mistake.
At least I have Jareth, I remind myself, stealing a glance over at my ex-boyfriend. I’m not here alone. And no matter how much he tries to act impassive, I know deep inside he’s still committed to my well-being.
“Come on,” Prim instructs impatiently, gesturing for us to follow him down into a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel that stretches off into total blackness. “We’re running out of time.”
I bite my lower lip, working to gather up my courage. I try to tell myself I’ve done the dark tunnel thing before—hell, just yesterday I was deep down in the New York City sewers. But something about this particular tunnel scares me to the bone. Maybe it’s the creepy glowing purple tendrils that climb the cavern walls. Or the red-hot blast of heat. Or perhaps it’s the stench of sulfur assaulting my nose.
No, actually it’s probably that piercing scream of pain echoing through the tunnel that has me most worked up.
“It’s okay,” Jareth’s voice whispers in my ear. I startle—I didn’t realize he was standing so close. “I’ll be right behind you,” he assures me.
I look back to give him a grateful smile, but he’s already turned away. Still, I can’t help but feel a little better as I take those first hunched-up steps into the darkness. In the distance my ears pick up more moans and groans from the permanent residents of this establishment. I gulp, picking up the pace, reminding myself that as frightening as this place is for me, my sister is probably ten times as scared right about now. And maybe even in pain—like that screamer. I can’t let my own fear paralyze me from doing what needs to be done.
“No! I can’t do it!”
I shuffle back around to see Race standing at the edge of the tunnel, a panicked look on his face.
“What’s wrong, rock star?” Jareth asks, his voice filled with contempt.
Race scowls at him, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nothing. I simply don’t like cramped spaces, okay?” he confesses, his face turning beet red. I can tell the admission of this little fact is killing him. Especially in front of Jareth. He must be super claustrophobic to say it aloud.
Jareth smiles smugly, looking happier than I’ve seen him all night. “I told you that you didn’t need to come,” he reminds him. “I mean, what did you expect? A yellow brick road?”
“Hey, AC/DC promised us a highway at the very least,” Race mutters. “Not a freaking dirt path clearly built for hobbits.” He sucks in a breath, searching the sky. “Is there a way back up? ’Cause I think I left my curling iron on back at the bus. And I’d hate for the whole thing to burn down, especially seeing as my manager already thinks I’m a closet arsonist and—”
“Sorry.” I snort. “I’m pretty sure this was a one-way ticket. The only way out is to continue on ahead.”
“Don’t worry, rock star,” Jareth adds, “I’ve got your back.”
“Yeah, that’s bloody comforting,” Race mutters. “Just don’t stick a stake in it, will you?”
“No promises.”
“All right, all right!” I interrupt, realizing this could go all night. “Race, come on. I’ll hold your hand, okay? Will that make you feel better?”
He considers this. “It’ll make my hand feel better. What about the rest of me? Maybe if you—”